


A Rush to the Start

by rhetoricalrogue



Series: How Far We've Come [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-09
Updated: 2017-02-19
Packaged: 2018-05-12 20:11:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 83,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5679166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhetoricalrogue/pseuds/rhetoricalrogue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Out of all the arlings in Ferelden, why did he have to break into hers?  This was not the way they were supposed to meet again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Nate/Moira story I wrote back in 2010. I recently re-read it and realized that I wanted to do some tweaking and editing to it. Originally, it was an entry into livejournal's 30hugs community.
> 
> 2016 note: I wrote this before DA2 had come out, and as such, I'm more than likely going to be editing large chunks of this to fit that world state, as well as the world state that happens in Inquisition. I hadn't meant for Moira to be my Rolfe Trevelyan's Warden to his Inquisitor, but ideas on Tumblr happened. I really like the decisions that I had him make, so I felt it would be easier to edit Moira's decisions while I'm working on her story already. For the record, Alistair and Anora are now married, Loghain performed the Dark Ritual with Morrigan (and is presumably somewhere in Orlais as a Warden), and there will more than likely be major changes to the ending chapters of this story. The original unedited story will remain on my fanfiction.net page for archival purposes.

Moira Cousland hated dungeons. They were dark, dank, and the stagnant air that settled in them chilled her to the bone. Her dislike for them hadn’t always been there; her father had made a point to keep every inch of his castle in sound condition, even if certain areas never saw any use. _It’s better to have a room ready for all guests, Pup,_ he had often told her, _than to have guests and unsuitable conditions you can’t deal with properly all at once._ Moira never remembered their dungeon being used for its intended purpose: instead, the kennel master had commandeered a few of the cells to quarantine dogs. Newborn pups and their mothers would be housed there, and for as long as she could remember, the household staff was sent down to the dungeons to sweep the cells and bring in fresh rushes to keep the hounds from getting sick on a near weekly basis. The original stonemasons had designed the dungeon’s ventilation so that there was a constant flow of fresh air circulating, and combined with the torches in their sconces and numerous overhead candelabras chasing away any shadows, the dungeon had always been a comforting place for Moira and her brother. In fact, as children either one of them could easily be found sleeping amid the straw in a pile of puppies.

It was only during the Blight that she began to detest dungeons, more than likely because she had horrible memories associated with the ones she had visited in Denerim. One she had been held in and the other…Moira shuddered, still recalling how she had stood there with blood dripping through her fingers from a gash at her side, watching impassively as Rendon Howe use his last breath to curse her.

 _And you think he will love you now?_ She shook her head and banished the sneering voice. She had more important matters to attend to than letting herself be haunted by the monster who used to call Vigil’s Keep home.

The building she was currently standing in couldn’t really be called much of a dungeon. It was more like an aboveground holding cell, small and with walls stained black with soot from sputtering torches that gave off very little light and cast menacing looking shadows. There was a sour, musty smell in the air, almost as if the straw that was scattered on the floor had rotted and no one had bothered to sweep it away before adding new, if they had even bothered adding more. Even the walls and stone floor seemed to weep, moisture sweating from both surfaces and lending a gloomy feeling to the claustrophobic space. If she had become Arlessa at any other time and under any other circumstances, she would have made a note to her seneschal to schedule the building for renovations. Yet this wasn’t any other time and the current circumstances she faced didn’t allow for such repairs, not when it seemed as if her entire keep was riddled with weak points that allowed darkspawn to catch her guards and the Wardens from Orlais unaware.

Moira nodded a greeting to the guard posted by the entrance, thinking that the boy couldn’t have been older than nineteen. “Watch yourself, Ser,” he warned. “This one’s tricky.”

“What crime did he commit to be jailed thusly?” she asked, her voice low. She couldn’t see much of the man in the dark cell save for the fact that he was sitting with his back against the far wall, one long leg stretched out in front of him and the other bent at the knee so he could rest his forearm on it.

“The bastard…uh, beggin’ your pardon, the _criminal,_ was caught sneaking into the castle. Said he used to live here, that he wanted some of his things and then he’d leave. When the other guards searched him, he put up a fight. Knocked three teeth out of my friend’s mouth, he did. Luckily Jim cuffed him in the back of the head and brought him down quick.”

She didn’t really hear much of the boy’s explanation, her brain freezing on _he used to live here_. Heart pounding in her chest, she took a tentative step forward and peered into the gloom to better inspect the man sitting in the cell. One look at his profile was enough to steal the breath from her lungs. He’d changed in the ten years since she had seen him last, the tall, lanky looking boy she had kept in her heart filling out into a rangy man with broad shoulders and a body that spoke of experience on the battlefield. What little of his features she could make out in the darkness had sharpened with age, turning what she had long since memorized into something familiar, yet wholly different.

Throat closing up, Moira’s first instinct was to turn around and run out of the holding cell as fast as her legs could carry her. _This was not the way we were supposed to meet again,_ she thought bitterly, blinking away the tears that blurred her vision. Out of all the people in Ferelden, why did _he_ have to be the thief her guards had captured? Unfortunately, she couldn’t afford the luxury a quick retreat offered, so she straightened her spine and collected her scattered thoughts as best as she could.

“Leave us,” she said quietly to the guard, who did so with a slight bow to her and a parting sneer to the prisoner. It felt odd in a way: she had gone from a lifetime of _my lady_ s and the majority of her requests being filled without question to having almost every decision she made questioned while being looked down upon by the general public due to being accused of a crime she and Alistair never committed, and then once again being shown the utmost of deference once the Blight was over. Alistair in particular was the most bothered by all the bowing and scraping, and Moira had to admit that even though her parents had instilled a sense of humility into her and her brother and she had never truly felt a sense of entitlement that came with her family’s status, it still felt disconcerting to suddenly switch gears in the span of such a short time.

While the return to _my lady_ this and _my lady_ that could easily be attributed to the defeat of the Archdemon and Alistair’s ascension to the throne, it also drove home that _she_ was in command here. Like it or not, she was now the Arlessa of Amaranthine and not just some guest under the Howe’s roof. The reminder of the weight of power on her shoulders and the realization of just who was sitting there in that cell left a sour note in her mouth and Moira suddenly wished that she had thought to bring Seneschal Varel along. She might not know the man at all, but having a presence behind her back would have felt welcome. Not for the first time that day, she wished that she had managed to persuade Alistair to stay for one evening before continuing on to his royal tour of the Bannorn. After everything they had been through together, it would have been comforting to have him by her side, especially now.

She was still trying to decide just what to say to her prisoner when he spoke. “Ah, my father’s murderer decides to grace me with their presence.” There was a slight noise as Nathaniel shifted, his boot scraping along the stone floor. He didn’t once look up past Moira’s boots as she finally forced her leaden legs to move closer to the cell. Even though he held himself in a relaxed pose, Moira could sense a sort of tension within his broad shoulders, like a trap ready to spring at a moment’s notice. “Strange. From what I’ve heard of you, I had expected you to stand ten feet tall and have fire shooting out of your eyes.”

Moira gripped the iron bars with her bare hands until her knuckles turned white. He sounded so much like his father then that she felt the hair at the nape of her neck stand on end and ghosts whisper in her ears. _Bryce Cousland’s little spitfire, all grown up and still playing the man._ “So, you _have_ heard of me,” she replied, ungluing her tongue from the roof of her mouth, her tone of voice matching his. _Take a page out of Morrigan’s handbook,_ she thought, watching as Nathaniel’s lips set into a sneer. _Show no weakness._ “How does the real thing fare in comparison to my reputation?” She stared at Nathaniel, looking on as he froze, the anger in his stance flickering and dying.

Slowly, as if he were trying his best to fight it, he raised his head and his eyes locked onto hers. “ _Moira?_ ” He gracelessly scrambled to his feet and came up to the bars of his cell, the weak torchlight illuminating both of their faces. Moira watched as he swallowed thickly, his throat bobbing as emotions flashed across his face. Disbelief gave way to hope as Nathaniel’s hands jerked at his side, as if he was fighting with himself to reach out and touch her. “Is it truly you?”

“It’s me, Nate.” Relief made her knees weak and she swayed towards the bars. She had been expecting a much different reunion, but to see him standing there looking at her as if she were some sort of vision… _Oh, I have missed you so much._

That relief turned into a cold knot at the pit of her stomach when his expression changed. He blinked, and she could practically see the gears of his mind working at lighting speed. In the span of seconds, relief quickly turned to shock and disbelief before settling into a look of anger the likes she had never seen from him before smoothing out into a mask of indifference.  “I never thought you’d be capable of murder.” His eyes were as flat as his voice, chilling Moira to the bone. In all the years that she had known him, Nathaniel Howe had never looked at her in that manner before.

Her fingers tightened on the bars and she had to almost physically push back memories, the coppery stench of blood and burning wood coming back with a vengeance. “You don’t know the whole story.” _Little Oren bleeding in my arms, Rory pushing me away, having to leave my parents to die…_ During the Blight, it had been easy to compartmentalize her personal grief away from the bigger picture, tending to the needs of the many as a coping mechanism during the day, yet the nights had been harder to deal with. She often felt awful for deceiving Alistair, waving away the sights and sounds of that horrible night with a simple lie of troubling darkspawn nightmares. Truth be told, Rory Gilmore’s glassy, dead eyes staring up at her as he silently accused her of his fate and the anguished screams of her mother haunted her sleep much more than any darkspawn, even in the depths of the Deep Roads.

Nathaniel’s lips twisted into a sneer. “What story? You mean the one that’s been circulating as far as the Free Marches, the one where my father was murdered in cold blood by someone – apparently _you_ – because he was loyal to Loghain and wouldn’t support the bastard prince’s run for the throne?” He shook his head and clucked his tongue in disappointment. “And all these years you professed to be above petty political schemes. It seems as if you’ve turned into a killer _and_ a liar.”

His tone of voice made something in her snap. “Rendon Howe _butchered my family!_ ” Rage that she thought long buried bubbled to the surface and she hit the flat of her palm against one of the bars. “My father _never_ would have supported Loghain’s bid for power so he was taken out of the equation. Your father murdered innocents, stole lands and usurped titles that were not rightfully his; his death was nothing less than what he deserved.”

Nathaniel glared at her, his hands bunched into fists at his sides. “ _Your_ father was a traitor to the kingdom, selling his allegiance to the Orlesians. My father heroically neutralized a threat to the country; what Bryce Cousland got was nothing less than what _he_ deserved.”

Her eyes narrowed to dangerous slits as red clouded her vision. “ _How dare you…_ ”

Nathaniel arched an eyebrow and crossed his arms over his chest. “And it seems as if you’ve decided to return the favor,” he growled. “Tell me, _my love_ , did your precious king grant you the title of Arlessa before or after you stabbed my father in the heart?”

Hearing Nathaniel call her by the familiar endearment while putting so much venom behind those two words felt worse than any physical injury she had ever endured. _Better in the heart than in the back,_ Moira wanted to say, but chose to keep her thoughts to herself instead of adding more fuel to the fire. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath, praying for calm. Anger had served her well in the past, but she knew that she would lose this battle of words if she let that emotion control her actions now. When she opened her eyes again, she realized just how close he was to her. She hadn’t been this near to him since she had been eighteen and confident that the only thing he was capable of at such proximity was stealing a kiss from her. Now she fought to stand her ground, knowing that the bars were spaced just enough to keep his hands from grabbing her by the throat.

“Yelling won’t solve anything,” she said quietly, her hands trembling against the bars. “What are you doing here?”

“The last time I checked, Vigil’s Keep was my _home_ ,” he spat. “When I heard of what had happened while I was away, I meant to set a trap for you, to kill you and avenge my family for stealing our lands and dragging our name through the mud the way you did. Yet as I lay in wait, I realized that no matter what I did, history belongs to the victor and I’d only be seen as a villain. In that moment, all I really wanted was something tangible of my past, something to remember my family by.” He wrapped his hands around the bars, his fingers inches from Moira’s, and bowed his head. “There’s been so much death on both or sides. As much as it galls me to admit it, I would hate to continue adding to the body count.”

Moira let her forehead rest against the metal. There was something broken about Nathaniel’s voice that tugged at her, making her wish that there wasn’t anything between them so that she could just reach out and wrap her arms around him like she used to so long ago, that she could hold tight and rest her head against his shoulder until time reversed and everything was once as it used to be. “What will you do if I let you go?” she whispered, suddenly drained and exhausted beyond belief. _Maker, when was the last time I slept?_ Her fingers ached to touch his cheek, to erase the grief she saw behind his eyes.

Then as quickly as that vulnerable moment had appeared, it was gone. Nathaniel looked at her with such hatred and Moira hated herself for dropping her guard. “I would just come back. I said that I wouldn’t _like_ to add to the body count, not that I’d necessarily decide to spare you. Next time, you and your guards might not catch me.”

 _When in doubt, do something out of place to distract your opponent._ Her old fencing teacher’s words came back to her just then and she let go of the bars, threw her head back and laughed because it was far better than screaming at the injustice of it all, far better than breaking down and crying like she desperately wanted to do. The tactic did the trick: Nathaniel took a hesitant step backwards.

She shook her head. _Oh Nate,_ she thought sadly. _What has become of us?_ “I defeated an archdemon, Nathaniel. You are certainly more than welcome to try your hand at what an entire darkspawn hoard failed to do.” At least now she had a reason to wipe at the corners of her eyes; the tears that she couldn’t quite keep at bay now disguised themselves as tears of mirth. It was clear to her that the boy she had loved so long ago was dead, just as the girl she had once been was, and she mourned for them both. This man in front of her, the one that wore Nathaniel’s face and spoke with his voice, was a stranger to her. “Letting you go is an option; I _could_ let you go and risk facing some assassination attempt at an unknown moment.” She shrugged, as if the idea didn’t bother her. “It wouldn’t be the first such attack, nor do I expect it to be the last. You said that the next time we meet that you might not spare me, but I feel it’s only right to warn you that should we meet again, I might not be so merciful either.”

“You’ve shown that you’re capable of killing without remorse; I expect that you wouldn’t lose sleep slitting my throat in a fight.” He crossed his arms over his chest and glowered. “Seeing as you sound unwilling to release me, what do you intend to do, _your ladyship_?”

She made a show of inspecting her fingernails, a bored expression on her face. “I could order your execution right here, right now,” she told him, her voice as cold as his. “What would you prefer: swinging from the courtyard rafters or being left here to rot?” She had never been good at intimidation, preferring to persuade her marks instead, so it took every ounce of energy she had to keep her tone and body language as cold and unforgiving as he thought she was, even when inside her heart was twisting at the very _thought_ of contemplating his death. No matter what his father had done to her family or how Nathaniel felt about her, she couldn’t help but still love him. She pushed aside her feelings until she had a chance to be alone and wallow in her own misery for a while. _And just when will that be,_ she angrily wondered. _You are the Warden-Commander now as well as the Arlessa of Amaranthine. Like always, you have to put the needs of your people ahead of your own._

“Either way would show fear on your part,” he hissed, his head held high. “Yet that would be typical where your actions are concerned. Fleeing your home instead of staying to defend the people in the city below and killing instead of bringing the accused to justice are marks of a true coward.”

Moira felt the muscles in her jaw clench and she fought the urge to slap the sneer off his face. “Then I guess that leads me to my final choice,” she said, hoping that she was making the right one. “I hereby conscript you into the Grey Wardens. You said that you have lost your name and the respect that went with it; by serving the Wardens, you have a chance to redeem yourself and your family.”

“Odd, how it is up to you to decide my fate,” he murmured, more to himself than to her. “You must be insane to want someone at your back who just said they had no problem killing you.”

She gave him a humorless smile. “It’s strange, but I meet most of my friends that way.” The offhand comment made her keenly miss Zevran, who to her knowledge was already home in his beloved Antiva. Suddenly, his _there are worse things than being at the mercy of a deadly sex goddess_ was worlds more preferable than the stony glare she was now facing. “Besides, not only is there a chance that you’ll die instantly during your Joining, but should you survive, Wardens are not long for this world. Between the darkspawn and your Calling, no one quite knows how long we’re expected to live.”

“So it seems as if you win no matter what.”

“Yes.” She wanted to argue that she wasn’t winning, that Rendon Howe was. It seemed that even beyond the grave he was still taking the things that meant the most to her. Would it ever stop, or was she slated to experience loss after loss? “Although if I kill you now, you wouldn’t have the opportunity to take back your name, now would you?”

His glare wavered and his shoulders seemed to slump. “I accept your offer.”

She let go of a breath she hadn’t been aware she had been holding. “I’m glad. I need all the Wardens I can get.” Three – four, if she counted Alistair – Grey Wardens in all of Ferelden against this new darkspawn threat was not a pleasant thought. Then again, they _had_ ended a Blight with only two; the additional numbers should have comforted her more than they did.

“I am not doing this for you,” he said, his voice flat. “I am doing this for my family, nothing more.”

“I…” she was at a loss for words. “Very well. Can I trust that you will refrain from killing your Commander, at least before we find out if you make it through your Joining?”

“I don’t see how I will have the chance to do so later, not with other Wardens in the area.” He stepped back and watched as she unlocked his cell door. “I don’t suppose that there’s an oath that prohibits me from allowing darkspawn to kill you instead?”

“There isn’t, although I have been told on more than one occasion that I’m royally tough to kill.” She stood aside as he walked out. “If you would kindly head towards the throne room, we can get this over with.” She couldn’t help adding a little jab. “I believe you’re familiar as to where that is.”

Nathaniel looked behind his shoulder. “Not going first? How unlike you; I would have thought you’d want to parade your prisoner about instead.”

“Forgive me if I think that you may have a knife hidden somewhere my guards didn’t think to check. I didn’t get the reputation of being hard to kill by being stupid.” She gestured towards the chest. “Take whatever personal items you wish; my guards have assured me that everything besides your weapons have been stored there.”

He snorted, but he did open the chest and take out a few things, ignoring the armor in favor for a necklace he tucked unto his tunic so quickly that she couldn’t make out whatever pendant had been hanging from the chain. He also slipped a familiar ring onto his left index finger she had rarely seen him go without. Thus outfitted, he went to the door to the dungeon and stepped out into the night. Moira tensed and prepared to reach for the dagger strapped at the small of her back, just in case he decided to make good on his threat.

“You aren’t the only one who hasn’t lived as long as they have by being stupid,” he said without looking behind him. “I don’t plan on being anything except the docile lamb being led to slaughter.” His words held a sarcastic bite to them that stung just as much as any blade, making Moira wince. She followed after him, watching as he walked with his head held high and his shoulders thrown back, as if there was no question that he belonged here. His actions momentarily cowed her, but she caught herself.

 _Two can play at this game,_ she thought, digging down into her own well of reserve, lengthening her stride until she walked alongside him. Vigil’s Keep was just as much hers now as it had once been his, and she was determined to show him that he would not intimidate her. It didn’t matter that she had fought Alistair tooth and nail on his decision of the new Warden outpost or how much she wished that she would have become Arlessa under circumstances no longer available to her, this land and the lives of the people that lived in it were her responsibilities now. Unlike the fear that she had felt in the dungeon, she felt a sense of purpose. She would lead as best as she knew how. She would lead in a manner her father would have been proud of.

 Rendon Howe might have taken everything away from the girl Moira had once been, but she would be damned if he would continue to take away things from the woman who had risen from the destruction he had caused. She would prove him wrong. She spared Nathaniel a sideways glance. She would prove them _both_ wrong.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is Nathaniel's version of chapter one, which is why the dialogue is all the same.

For the most part, Nathaniel didn’t mind small, dark spaces. He’d trained for nearly ten years to use the shadows to his advantage and work best unseen, yet his father’s holding cell was an exception. It was cold, and damp clung to every surface. He’d managed to gather a bit of straw that hadn’t been rotten to sit on as a barrier between himself and the chill that seeped from the floor, but it wasn’t much of a comfort. He wondered just _why_ this place had gone into such disrepair; while his father had never gone out of his way to make certain that any _guests_ they might have had – petty thieves and dishonest merchants for the most part – he never recalled seeing the building in such a state. Nathaniel stretched his legs out in front of him and rested his head against the wall he was leaning against. He found it incredibly ironic that he had once been in the very same cell as a boy, hiding from his younger siblings during a game of Chase and Find. They hadn’t been able to find him, partly because they had been afraid of the dark shadows and dim lighting. The cell had seemed bigger then, not the claustrophobic cage that it actually was.

He’d lost track of how long he’d actually been sitting there. For all he knew, it could have been only a few hours or even a full day. Nathaniel had heard sounds of fighting earlier that had him on alert, but they had since stopped.   The surly guard stationed in front of him wasn’t any help; all he muttered once he had returned from wherever he had run off to was how lucky Nathaniel was to be locked up tight while good people fought outside. There had been no use telling the guard that he _had_ been concerned for those fighting – his family had been responsible for their well being, after all - but the boy probably wouldn’t have believed him anyway.

He glared at the lock on his cell again. Pity he had never mastered unlocking it before. It was an even bigger pity that his lock picking kit was safely stored away in a trunk several feet from his cell. If he had it, then he guessed that overpowering the guard barring his exit would have been easy and he would have been well on his way before this new Commander of the Grey had arrived. As it was, he was reduced to sullenly sitting in the dark, wondering if this Commander, this _Cousland_ , would let him live or have him killed.

Cousland. Nathaniel’s eyes narrowed and he thought about all he had learned since coming back from the Free Marches. A Cousland had killed his father, murdered him outright in a newly acquired family estate, and then had stolen all their lands and titles from under their noses. Nathaniel had done some investigating and had even heard the titles of Hero of Ferelden and Teryn thrown about.

It hadn’t seemed real; Fergus had once been one of his closest boyhood friends. What right did he have to do this to the Howes? Word was that Bryce Cousland had betrayed the kingdom and had been selling information to the Orlesians. _That_ bit of information had been difficult to hear; Nathaniel had thought of the Teyrn of Highever as something of a surrogate father, especially since he had once thought to call him his father-in-law. Nathaniel had also picked up some information saying that his father had attacked Highever first, but he had thrown that out as pure gossip spread by Fergus’ followers, as justification for the injuries done to his family. What reason would his father have to attack his oldest friend? What would he have to gain? The Rendon Howe that Nathaniel remembered would never do something so rash, especially if there was a chance that his actions would damage his family’s reputation.

He eyed the trunk holding all his possessions, the ache in his ribs having nothing to do with the kicks and jabs he had taken when he had been discovered by the guards. Amid his few personal items stored there was a chain that held a plain gold band he had worn around his neck for nearly a decade. He’d still been in the Free Marches when he had heard that the entire Cousland line save for Fergus had been killed in Highever and it had felt as if someone had ripped his heart out of his chest. When he had heard the news that the Teyrn had also been killed that night, he had felt sorry that he hadn’t survived, if only because he had wished to have been the one to kill him himself. In the span of one night, Teyrn Bryce had taken _everything_ from Nathaniel. He’d mourned Moira’s death for months before finding the strength to come back to Ferelden, cursing at her father for letting his political ambitions put those that he had claimed to love the most in danger. When he had been captured, he had stood by quietly as the guards had taken his armor and weapons from him, but he had fought them when they pulled his necklace off, one of them commenting that it would fetch a pretty price at the market. The words had made him see red and his fist had flown into the guard’s face before he even realized what he was doing. The only place the heirloom wedding ring was supposed to be if not around his neck was on Moira’s hand, and now that she had been taken from him, he would fight anyone who dared to touch the one thing he had left to remind him of her.

His efforts earned him a beating from his captors, but at least he had the satisfaction that he had blackened one of their eyes and broken the nose of another beforehand.

Nathaniel’s thoughts came to a halt when he heard voices near the dungeon’s entrance. He couldn’t make out who it was, but he was betting that it was the new Commander. He didn’t want to give Fergus the satisfaction of seeing him so defeated, so he decided to keep his eyes glued to the stone floor in front of him until absolutely necessary.

“Ah, my father’s murderer decides to grace me with their presence. Strange. From what I heard of you, I had expected you to stand ten feet tall and have fire shooting out of your eyes,” Nathaniel said quietly, his voice echoing in the cell. He congratulated himself on his bitter tone, especially when he heard the almost silent footsteps pause before stopping a foot away from his cell.

“So, you _have_ heard of me.” The soft voice that replied threw Nathaniel for a loop. That was _not_ Fergus. The years had deepened the tone a little, but after hearing it night after night in his dreams, he could easily pinpoint who it belonged to. “How does the real thing fare in comparison to my reputation?”

Nathaniel slowly forced his gaze upward, still not believing that the person in front of him was real, hope flaring in his chest for the first time since he heard that horrible news. His eyes widened and he scrambled to his feet, all grace gone as he lumbered up to the bars of the cell. He wished that the light was brighter to see her by, but _Maker_ , what he could make out was breathtaking. “Moira?” _Praise Andraste,_ he thought, looking down at her face. Time had sharpened the angles and take away some of the soft roundness in her cheeks, but her eyes were the same ones that had kept him company for years. _She’s not dead. Somehow she survived._ “Is it truly you?” He had to fight to keep his hands at his sides when all he wanted to do was reach out and touch her. He was terrified that she wasn’t real, that this was some dream brought on by the day’s events.

He watched as she swayed towards him, her breath hitching in her throat. “It’s me, Nate,” she whispered, and Nathaniel nearly sagged against the bars, desperate to have this barrier between them gone so he could _hold…_

The torch in the nearby sconce flickered as the flame caught the constant draft and Nathaniel suddenly saw her clearly. Instead of the dresses that she so hated wearing, Moira was dressed in a suit of finely made leather armor, the dragon scales along her arms shimmering in the torchlight. She’d cut her hair, the ends barely touching her shoulders where it used to fall in thick waves down her back. There were shadows under her eyes that went beyond a few sleepless nights and suddenly things began to click into place. The still-bloody armor, the deadly blades at her sides… _no. No, she couldn’t have._

The relief and hope he had held for such a short time slipped through his fingers. This was _Moira_. She _couldn’t_ be the same Cousland who had run a sword through his father’s heart. Surely it had been her brother.

_So you have heard of me. How does the real thing fare in comparison to my reputation?_ He felt as if he had been the one to suffer the mortal blow instead as shock and disbelief gave way to anger. _I’ll wait for you forever, Nate. I love you._ Memories that had kept him company when he had been away were now useless and he fought to find some sort of foothold on a suddenly slippery slope. “I hadn’t pegged you as a murderess.” His voice was flat and lifeless even to his ears, and he briefly enjoyed the uncomfortable expression on Moira’s face.

Her fingers tightened on the bars and he watched as she took a deep breath. “You don’t know the whole story.” Something painful flashed behind her eyes and Nathaniel had to push away the reflexive urge to hold her, to do something to ease whatever hurt she had suffered. That was when the full effect of what had happened finally hit him, that his father was dead and _she_ had been the one to send his family into ruin. He hadn’t heard a word about Thomas or Delilah’s whereabouts; had Moira had something to do with them as well?

Nathaniel stood up and walked towards her. “What story? You mean the one that’s been circulating as far as the Free Marches, the one where my father was murdered in cold blood by someone – apparently you – because he was loyal to Loghain and wouldn’t support the bastard prince’s run for the throne?” Rage burned brightly in his chest and it made him want to reach out and _shake_ her. How could she do this to him? How could she do this to _both_ of them? He clucked his tongue in disappointment. “And all these years you professed to be above petty political schemes. It seems as if you’ve turned into a killer _and_ a liar.”

He watched as something inside of her snapped. “Rendon Howe _butchered my family!_ ” She had been quiet up until then, and the sudden outburst of rage caught him unaware, as did the way the flat of her palm hit the bars, making them shake. “My father _never_ would have supported Loghain’s bid for power so he was taken out of the equation. Your father murdered innocents, stole lands and usurped titles that were not rightfully his; his death was nothing less than what he deserved.”

Her words made him seethe. He had _mourned_ her loss, had wandered about feeling lost and empty for so long only to find out that not only did she not deny his allegations, but she held no remorse for her actions. “ _Your_ father was a traitor to the kingdom, selling his allegiance to the Orlesians. My father heroically neutralized a threat to the country; what Bryce Cousland got was nothing less than what _he_ deserved.” It was a cheap shot and he knew it, but he wanted her to hurt as much as he did. He _needed_ her to suffer just as much as he had suffered.

“ _How dare you…_ ” Her eyes were narrowed and he had never heard her voice sound so hateful before in his life.

Nathaniel arched an eyebrow and crossed his arms over his chest, cutting off whatever else she was planning on saying. “And it seems as if you’ve decided to return the favor. Tell me, _my love_ , did your precious King grant you the title of Arlessa before or after you stabbed my father in the heart?” The endearment felt like a knife twisting in his chest even as he spat it out at her like a curse. He watched with some satisfaction as she flinched, closing her eyes as she fought to tamp her temper down like he had often seen her do. She was so close to him now that even through the coppery scent of blood on her armor, he could smell the faintest whiff of lavender come off her. Unbidden, _unwanted_ , the scent forced a memory to the surface: he was twenty again, holding Moira close to his chest with his nose buried in her hair. He was amazed at how perfectly she fit into his arms, almost as if the Maker had created her just for him. He could remember looking down at her and wondering if she might object to him kissing her here out in the open like he had wanted to ever since his arrival in Highever that morning with his father.

The thought of his father gave Nathaniel something to focus on. He shook his head and brought himself back to the present, noticing that Moira had opened her eyes again and was staring at him.

“Yelling won’t solve anything,” she said quietly. “What are you doing here?”

“The last time I checked, Vigil’s Keep was my _home,_ ” he snapped. “When I heard what had happened while I was away, I meant to set a trap for you, to kill you and avenge my family for stealing our lands and dragging our name through the mud the way you did. Yet as I lay in wait, I realized that no matter what I did, history belongs to the victor and I’d only be seen as a villain. In that moment, all I really wanted was something tangible of my past, something to remember my family by.” Nathaniel wrapped his hands around the bars, his fingers almost grazing Moira’s. He bowed his head. Maker, but he was tired. In all honesty, he _did_ just want to take a few mementos of his former life and leave, never to come back. He didn’t belong here, and he certainly didn’t want to be anywhere near her any longer.

“There’s been so much death on both our sides. As much as it galls me to admit it, I would hate to continue adding to the body count.”

He felt, rather than saw the moment Moira let her forehead rest against the metal. “What will you do if I let you go?” she whispered. He flicked his eyes over to look at her and wondered just when the last time that she had slept was. He’d always been able to read her since they were children and the fine, nearly unnoticeable tremor in her hands and the set of her shoulders told him that she was exhausted. In that moment, her eyes shimmering in the torchlight, she sounded just as broken as he felt. His heart couldn’t help but go out to her, no matter how much he vehemently told it to stay in its cage.

He had to physically stop himself from reaching out and brushing away the lone tear that had slipped down her cheek, his hand clenching into a fist just as he twisted his lip into a sneer. Stepping away from the bars of the cell, he filled his voice with as much hate as he could muster: hate for the things that she had put his family through, and most importantly, hate for himself for still holding onto some shred of hope that there was anything left of the girl he had fallen in love with so long ago. That girl was dead and he mourned her; to see Moira like this, to know that she was responsible for his family’s downfall, was like reopening a wound that had never fully gotten a chance to heal.

“I would just come back. I said that I wouldn’t _like_ to add to the body count, not that I’d necessarily decide to spare you. Next time, you and your guards might not catch me.”

She made it easier for him to hate her when she threw her head back and laughed. The sound was completely devoid of mirth and made his skin crawl. He took a hesitant step backwards and watched as she wiped at her eyes with the backs of her hands. “I defeated an archdemon, Nathaniel. You are certainly more than welcome to try your hand at what an entire darkspawn hoard failed to do.” It was the first time that she had called him by his name, and he was grateful for the mocking tone she said it in, if only for the fact that it helped fuel his anger towards her.

“Letting you go is an option,” she continued, “I _could_ let you go and risk facing some assassination attempt at an unknown moment. It wouldn’t be the first such attack, nor do I expect it to be the last. You said that next time we meet that you might not spare me, but I feel it’s only right to warn you that should we meet again, I might not be so merciful either.”

“You’ve shown that you’re capable of killing without remorse,” he spat, crossing his arms and glowering at her. “I expect that you wouldn’t lose sleep slitting my throat in a fight. Seeing as you sound unwilling to release me, what do you intend to do, _your ladyship_?”

He watched as she made a show of inspecting her fingernails, almost as if they were sitting around talking about some boring subject instead of what she intended to do with him. “I could order your execution right here, right now,” she informed him, her voice cold and uninterested, almost as if she were discussing the weather. “What would you prefer: swinging from the courtyard rafters or being left here to rot?”

“Either way would show fear on your part,” he hissed, his head held high. He refused to be intimidated by her. “Yet that would be typical where your actions are concerned. Fleeing your home instead of staying to defend the people in the city below and killing instead of bringing the accused to justice are marks of a true coward.”

Oh, _that_ hit his mark. Even though they hadn’t seen the other in a decade, he still knew that the twitch of muscle at her jaw meant that she was _angry_ , enraged even. _Good,_ he thought. _She could never control herself when whipped up into a frenzy. She’ll make some mistake and I can make my move._ What that move would be, he hadn’t decided.

“Then I guess that leads me to my final choice. I hereby conscript you into the Grey Wardens. You said that you have lost your name and the respect that went with it; by serving the Wardens, you have a chance to redeem yourself and your family.”

“Odd, how it is up to you to decide my fate,” he murmured, more to himself than to her. “You must be insane to want someone at your back who just said they had no problem killing you.”

She gave him a humorless smile. “It’s strange, but I meet most of my friends that way. Besides, not only is there a chance that you’ll die instantly during your Joining, but should you survive, Wardens are not long for this world. Between the darkspawn and your Calling, no one quite knows how long we’re expected to live.

He narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms again. “So it seems as if you win no matter what.” Not only had she stolen everything he held dear from him, but now she had even stolen his life. Even if he were to survive this Joining, whatever it was, and escape, he would ultimately die. And it was all because of her.

“Yes. Although if I kill you now, you wouldn’t have the opportunity to take back your name, now would you?”

He glared at her before taking hold of the bars again. His fate was set, and he could either face it kicking and screaming or he could walk forward with dignity. “I accept your offer.”

She let go of a breath and Nathaniel saw a ghost of the smile he had once treasured appear on her face. “I’m glad. I need all the Wardens I can get.”

“I am not doing this for you,” he said, his voice flat. “I am doing this for my family, nothing more.”

“I…” Her smile froze on her lips before vanishing completely, her expression as cold as his own. “Very well. Can I trust that you will refrain from killing your Commander, at least before we find out if you make it through your Joining?”

“I don’t see how I will have the chance to do so later, not with other Wardens in the area.” He stepped back and watched as she unlocked his cell door. “I don’t suppose that there’s an oath that prohibits me from allowing darkspawn to kill you instead?”

“There isn’t, although I have been told on more than one occasion that I’m royally tough to kill.” She stood aside as he walked out. “If you would kindly head towards the throne room, we can get this over with.” Her lip curled and it seemed as if she couldn’t help herself from taking one more stab at him as he passed by. “I believe you’re familiar as to where that is.”

He looked behind his shoulder, refusing to allow her words to affect him. “Not going first? How unlike you; I would have thought you’d want to parade your prisoner about instead.”

“Forgive me if I think you have a knife hidden somewhere my guards didn’t think to check. I didn’t get the reputation of being hard to kill by being stupid.” She gestured towards the chest he had been eyeing earlier. “Take whatever personal items you wish; my guards have assured me that everything besides your weapons have been stored there.”

He snorted, thinking that her tone just then was more like what he remembered when she had been a little girl and had wanted to tag along with him and Fergus while they practiced their swordplay in the front courtyard of the Keep. _But I don’t want to play with your sister’s dolls! Just because I’m a girl doesn’t mean that I can’t fight as well as you two!_ Shaking that memory aside, he knelt and sifted through his belongings, finding his necklace and quickly slipping it over his head. He tucked the ring underneath his tunic before Moira had a chance to recognize it, to demand that he give it back to her since it had once belonged to her mother. _No,_ he thought fiercely, his palm pressing the cool metal band against his chest. _This is all I have left before things went so wrong. She might have stolen everything else from me, but I’ll be damned if she takes this from me as well._ The only other thing he took out was the ring his sister had given him that he’d worn for years, placing it back onto his left index finger where it belonged. Standing up, he went to the door of the dungeon and stepped out into the night. Behind him, he could practically feel Moira reaching for the wickedly long dagger he had seen strapped at her back, almost as if she were afraid that once freed, he would turn and attack. _Good_ , he thought. _She should be wary of me._

“You aren’t the only one who hasn’t lived as long as they have by being stupid. I don’t plan on being anything except the docile lamb being led to slaughter.” Really, what did she expect him to fight her with, his bare hands? He was certain that even if he had gotten a few hits in or manage to overpower her, a single cry to her guards would have left him dead on the flagstones. He continued walking towards the throne room, determined to prove to Moira that even though she might have won this battle, he wasn’t going to go down without a fight. He would join the Grey Wardens, bring honor back to his family’s name, and live out the rest of his life the best that he could.

Moira Cousland might have destroyed everything he cared for, but he refused to allow her to lord it over him. He felt her fall into step beside him on his left as she had always done since the very first time they had met as children, but he didn’t acknowledge her presence. He would walk these halls as if they still belonged to the Howes and there was nothing that she could do to stop him.

Another subtle hint of lavender assaulted his nose and he cursed himself for letting it affect him as much as it did. He might feel hatred towards her now, but he hoped that the layer of ice that he had put around his treacherous heart would hold.


	3. Chapter 3

Moira swayed on her feet when they entered the Great Hall. Aside from the fresh, _searing_ ache in her chest at finding Nathaniel again, her arm throbbed in pain from where a genlock had bit its teeth into a gap in her armor. There was something unpleasant squelching in her right boot that she didn’t really want to think about, and her mind was racing with things that still needed to be done and what order to prioritize them in.

Sleep would not be a luxury she’d be able to indulge in tonight, or else she’d have to make do with a brief nap.

She listened with half an ear as Varel presented Nathaniel with the Joining chalice. She was vaguely aware of Oghren and Anders standing beside her, because her main focus was centered purely on Nathaniel. Her stomach knotted and rolled uncomfortably as he took his first sip, his eyes never once leaving her face. _I’ve made a horrible mistake,_ she thought, the idea flitting through her mind like a bird desperate to fly out of a cage. She thought about Mhairi, about how much the woman had wanted to join their ranks, and how her body had convulsed in agony not but a few short hours ago in almost the same spot Nathaniel now stood. As poorly as their reunion had been, Moira couldn’t stop the panicked _Nathaniel_ that slipped past her lips when his fingers lost their grip on the cup, nor could she stop her tired legs from rushing to his side as she tried to soften the fall as he collapsed.

“Don’t you dare die on me, Nathaniel Howe,” she hissed, fingers reaching for his throat to feel for a pulse as she eased him down to the floor, his head resting in her lap. She let out the breath she had been holding when she felt it beat strongly beneath her fingertips. Exhausted, she didn’t think as she gently brushed the backs of her fingers across his brow to push his hair out of his eyes. It wasn’t until the second pass of her fingers against his cheek that she stopped and realized what she was doing.

_I’ve made a horrible mistake,_ she thought again, looking up at the small crowd around them. While Anders was looking at her in curiosity, as if he wasn’t quite sure of the history between her and Nathaniel, but he was pretty sure that she hadn’t reacted the same way when he and Oghren had undergone the Joining. Her eyes darted towards Oghren. While she hadn’t exactly told him all the specifics of her past, he had at least been aware of some of the important details, such as the fact that she had been involved with Rendon Howe’s son. Moira knew that he had heard her call Nate by his full name, and she could see the gears working in her friend’s mind as pieces clicked into place.

But what was the worst was the look on Varel’s face. Her new seneschal had the privilege of seeing Nathaniel, and herself to some degree, grow up. He knew their history, and it didn’t take a genius to decipher Nathaniel’s recent body language to discover how much he despised her. _Oh you poor girl,_ his face seemed to say. His eyes were kind, just as they had always been, but Moira couldn’t afford to have a weakness such as this out in the open, not when they had a new threat of darkspawn to investigate and she had an arling to run.

Closing her worn emotions behind a well-practiced mask, she gestured to two of the guards lingering in the hall. She knew how servants talked: tongues would quickly be wagging all throughout the keep at their newest mistress’ show of emotion, but it was a price she would have to pay. “Help me navigate Warden Howe to a more comfortable spot, please,” she said to them. Turning to the others, she shrugged as she stood up. “I don’t know how long he’ll be out; we should get him out of the way while we figure out our next move.” She didn’t say it out loud, but she figured that Nathaniel wouldn’t appreciate waking up with a crick in his neck to add to his list of injuries she was responsible for. She watched as the guards picked Nathaniel’s limp body up, one taking his arms and the other handling his legs, and stood by to guide them.

“Upstairs on the second floor, western wing, third door to the left,” Varel murmured. Maker bless him, he knew that she hadn’t stepped foot inside Vigil’s Keep in years and was unfamiliar with the layout. “There are few rooms in the Keep that are suitable for occupation, but I believe that one will suit Warden Howe nicely.”

Moira nodded. “Thank you.” With that, she straightened her shoulders and walked towards the Great Hall’s exit.

It took very little organizing to have two soldiers haul Nathaniel’s limp body up a flight of stairs and down a hallway. While they walked, Moira’s mind went back to the last time she had been a guest at the keep while Nathaniel had still lived there. The halls were a lot smaller than she remembered; everything seemed darker and doors felt as if they were clustered closer together. She figured that was just her memory playing tricks on her: everything had been grander and more intriguing to her back when she had been eighteen.

Back then, Fergus had been scheduled to leave Amaranthine’s harbor to travel in Antiva for an entire year. It so happened that Nathaniel was leaving that same time for the Free Marches. Moira’s father had planned for their family to stay with the Howes for a week in order for both of them to leave on the same ship together. Even though she had been dreading the visit’s end when she would have to say goodbye to two people that meant so much to her, she had been excited about the stay. A week in the Keep meant one last week with Nathaniel, and it had been so _difficult_ to hide just how much that meant to her. Most of her time had been spent in Delilah’s company touring the gardens, but her nights had been spent practicing her stealth, carefully padding down the hallways and slinking in the shadows, always in fear that she’d get caught by a maid or a guard as she tried to sneak into Nathaniel’s bedchambers.

Her memories of the past collided with the present when they stopped at Nathaniel’s new quarters. Her breath caught and she maneuvered herself in front of the two men carrying Nathaniel to open the door. Ten years had done little to change the room: it hadn’t been lavishly decorated to begin with, but much of the furniture was the same. There was the large, overstuffed chair near the fireplace, the polished bronze telescope neatly arranged near the window, and the roomy bed with its downy soft comforter that Moira absolutely _refused_ to let her memories linger on for too long. Instead, she busied herself by building a fire in the hearth while the guards not quite gently dumped Nathaniel on the bed. She noticed that one of the guards had a split lip while the other had a black eye. _Must be the ones that had the misfortune of discovering him in the first place,_ she thought. Turning, she saw both men give her a salute before leaving and she took a deep breath as she contemplated being alone with the one man she hadn’t expected to ever see again. Mindful of the blood smeared on her armor – she’d have to clean that sometime soon, she made her way to the bed and perched on the edge of the mattress close to Nathaniel’s side.

“It would seem,” she drawled, “that Varel has given you back your old bedroom. You should thank him later.”

Nathaniel’s only reply was a slight grunt, his mouth turning down into a frown in his sleep.

Fatigue from the earlier fighting and emotions she hadn’t been prepared to face made her tremble, the room swaying in front of her eyes. A log crackled in the fireplace and drew her attention. _It had rained for days after their arrival and the chair had been the perfect place to rest, Nathaniel’s voice sleepily rumbling against her side as he read aloud from a book of poetry while she sat curled up in his lap, the heat from the fire in front of them and the man beside her lulling her to sleep._

“You always did frown too much,” she said, turning back to face him. “Though I never minded; you always said that I smiled enough for the both of us.” She hadn’t done much smiling in the past few months, what with the death of her family, dealing with the Blight, and trying to rebuild Ferelden alongside a king, who despite his dedication to his new job, was terribly wet behind the ears when it came to politics.

“At least your things are still in place,” she commented, looking again at the telescope. There was a thick layer of dust on the surface, but other than that, it looked to be in good shape. _They’d spent hours at night staring at the stars, his lips near her ear as he whispered the names of constellations and his hands warm on her waist as he held her close._ She stared at the telescope until her vision blurred and she was forced to wipe at her face with the back of her hand. “You know, I didn’t believe my friend when he first said it, but fate is _definitely_ a tricky whore.”

“What am I doing here?” she breathed, turning her head so she could look at him. “Did I do the right thing in forcing you to be a Warden?” Better yet, _why_ had she made him become a Warden? Practicality told her that it was because their numbers were far too few, especially since the Wardens from Orlais had been killed or drug off by the darkspawn that had ambushed the Keep. Common sense told her that it had been to keep her enemies close; if Nathaniel was there in front of her, she wouldn’t have to worry about him stealing back into the Keep to slit her throat.

Unfortunately, sentiment was all but screaming that she had chosen to keep Nathaniel at her side because even with everything that his father had done to her family, she simply wanted to have him close again. While she had spent months loathing his father for what he had done, she had _never_ placed any blame on Nathaniel. Just speaking to him briefly told her that he had no knowledge of his father’s deeds. She shifted position and the letter she kept tucked close to her breast crinkled. Reaching out to touch his hand, she watched as his face blurred. Even after the hateful words they had said to the other, she was still deeply in love with him.

The realization hit her like a ton of bricks, even though it shouldn’t have. She’d used the excuse of being in love with another man to turn Zevran’s more amorous advances down and even the Sloth demon in the Circle tower had been able to see her heart, offering her the illusion of happiness with Nate in return for slowly wasting away in the Fade.

She wished that Quinn was there with her, if only so that she would have someone to talk to. Unfortunately for her, the Mabari was needed more in Highever. Ever since she had taken him back to their old home in order to help with the clean-up, Quinn had stuck to her and Fergus’ sides like glue. Moira hadn’t minded at the time; Fergus had been so distant as they had arranged his wife and son’s funerals and it seemed that nothing Moira did could break through the stony defenses he had put up. He had worried her, how he had bottled up his grief and guarded his heart from even her. She had been deathly afraid that he would keep everything in, that he would slowly start to waste away while she was helpless to do anything except watch her last living relative’s spirit die right in front of her eyes. Yet one day, Quinn had given her brother’s hand a nudge with his great big head and Fergus had fallen to his knees, wrapping his arms around Quinn’s neck and sobbing into his fur.   The two of them had been inseparable ever since, and it had only made sense to leave him in Highever when she set out for Amaranthine.

Not for the first time since arriving at the Keep, she wished that Alistair was around. During the course of the Blight, they became fast friends who helped the other heal from the grief of their own personal losses. It wasn’t long before they were doing a great deal of things in tandem, from moving seamlessly together in battle to finishing up the other’s sentences while they stopped to make camp. Alistair reminded Moira not to take life so seriously and Moira grounded him when the responsibilities of kingship grew overwhelming. Alistair was the one person who knew her almost better than she knew herself. While he would be the first to admit to not having the right words, he would understand what she was feeling and would have held out his arms to her and hugged her until she was certain that things were going to be all right.

“Do you really hate me so?” she whispered, reaching out and tucking a strand of hair behind Nathaniel’s ear. She gave into temptation and ran her fingers down his cheek, staring down at his face that she had long since memorized. Time may have changed it a little, but he was still notably _him_ , from the line of his jaw, the curve of his lips, and the little wrinkle between his brows that seemed to be a permanent fixture, even when he laughed. It was a rare occurrence to see him laugh freely, and she had lived for the times when they were alone and he was at ease.

Her fingers stayed at his cheek. Without the audience in the Great Hall, Moira could indulge in stroking his cheek in a loving manner. She did jerk back as if burned when Nathaniel seemed to lean into her caress, his face seeking her hand in sleep when he didn’t want anything to do with her while awake. The movement made the letter at her breast crinkle loudly in the otherwise quiet of the room, even through layers of padding and armor. Moira had tried to set aside what had become one of her lucky totems while dealing with the aftermath of the Blight, but she had felt naked without the familiar press of parchment against her skin. Something painful twisted in her heart when she realized that she would have to set it aside. If Nathaniel found out that she still had it…

No. The letter full of love and hopes for a bright future together was the only thing she had left of them; she refused to have the memory of the love they had once shared used against her in any form or fashion. As soon as she was able, she would go to the room where her belongings had already been delivered days ago and store it with the rest of his letters she had recovered from Highever. She had clutched the little box she had stored them in to her chest when she had discovered it wedged behind her dresser in her old room. There had been so many things either looted or destroyed that finding it and the letters held within intact had felt like a blessing. Each letter that she had received from Nathaniel while he had been away had been treasured, and she had anticipated the day that he would finally come home.

_And when I return, nothing would make me happier than the ability to tell everyone that you’re my wife._

_Ask me properly when you return, but know that my answer will be yes._

_Yes? Truly?_

_Yes. Even if you ask me a thousand times, I will always say yes._

Moira looked down at Nathaniel, who hadn’t seemed aware that she was sitting next to him. Hesitantly, she let her index finger hover without touching his bottom lip, thinking back to all the times where she had been free to kiss him. She closed her eyes tightly as she remembered the way he had kissed: soft at first, then more confident, his lips molding to hers. He’d always had a habit of cupping her face with the palm of his hand, his thumb making lazy circles over her jaw.

Unfortunately, all of that had come to a screeching halt in her family’s larder, and then died outright in a dark dungeon. _And you think my son will love you after this?_ Howe’s last taunt rang in her ears and caused the hair at the back of her neck to stand on end.

“It’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make,” she whispered, biting her lip and stroking his cheek again. Nathaniel stirred and Moira could feel that he was on the verge of waking. “Will you ever forgive me, I wonder?” she murmured, before standing up to go to the fireplace. She stared at the flames, listening as Nathaniel groaned and sat up. Moira had precious seconds to collect her thoughts and hide her feelings behind a layer of protective armor. She might have survived assassination attempts, darkspawn hordes, and an archdemon, but she didn’t know if she could survive Nathaniel using the knowledge that she still loved him against her.

_I meant what I said earlier. No matter what happens, no matter how long I’m away, I will always love you. Nothing can ever change that._ Moira could still smell the water from the docks, the memory of riding to Amaranthine to bid Nathaniel farewell still as fresh in her mind as it had been only yesterday. She could clearly remember the way he had gathered her in his arms that day, his arms holding her tightly to his chest as he dipped his head down to kiss her. She recalled the way he had looked at her when they had moved apart for air, the warm way he had looked down at her and the soft, sweet manner his lips had curved up into an endearingly crooked smile.

That had been the last time that anyone had ever kissed Moira. “It seems as if you’ve forgotten your promise,” she whispered, taking a shaky breath to try and settle her nerves. Gathering her courage, she turned around.

“So, I see that I didn’t manage to die,” Nathaniel said, his voice raspy.

“It would seem that way,” she replied coolly, walking over to the foot of the bed. Nathaniel had already swung his legs over the mattress and was leaning his elbows on his knees. If he recognized that he was in his boyhood room, he didn’t mention anything to her.

“And what,” he said, narrowing his eyes at her, “would be your first order for me, _Commander_?”

She flinched and put a steadying hand on the bedpost, physically shoving memories away. “If you are well enough, then come with me back to the Great Hall. You still use a bow, yes?”

“Normally yes, but you know that I can wield a blade as well.” They had often gone against the other in their sparring sessions once Moira had finally gotten good enough. Nathaniel was several years of swordsmanship lessons ahead of her, but he had never let a chance pass to give her a tip to help her form.

“We’ll just go with what you normally use. There is a possibility that darkspawn still linger in the cellars. You, Anders, Oghren and I will go down there to eliminate that threat.”

He stood up and leaned a hand against the same bedpost she had her hand on. “Not afraid that I’ll put an arrow through your back?”

She stiffened. _I might not hold it against him that he hates me, but this attitude has got to go._ “That’s a worry that I can’t afford to have,” she said. Then she leaned against the post, her face bare inches from his own. She had the faintest satisfaction of hearing his indrawn breath and watching the way his eyes darkened before continuing. “Besides, I’m certain that at least one of my friends will object to you killing me. Have you ever been on the business end of an axe wielded by a dwarf in full berserker mode?”

“I can’t say that I have.”

“You don’t want to be. I’ve seen what it can do and it isn’t pretty.” She ran a critical eye down his body before stepping away. His shoulders _had_ filled out and his chest was broader than she remembered it being. Hopefully she would have something that fit him. “I take it that you still prefer leather armor to the heavier suits?”

“Yes.” He broke eye contact first, backing away from the bed and crossing his arms over his chest.

“Good. It just so happens that I have a set of drakescale armor that may suit you after a few slight alterations.”

“I _have_ a suit of armor already,” he bit out stiffly.

“One that’s seen better days. You were out longer than you realize; I had plenty of time to see what you had been wearing.” That was a lie, but she wasn’t going to tell him that. The extra armor that she had brought with her was actually a little better than the set she had on, but she was comfortable fighting in what she was currently wearing. She raised an eyebrow and casually leaned against the bedpost. “The set of armor I’m suggesting you wear offers more protection than your old one. Your bow could stand a few upgrades as well; and there are several in the armory that I’ve brought with me for you to choose from.” She turned to the door and put her hand on the knob. “You coming? Darkspawn aren’t likely to kill themselves, you know.” She turned her head to find Nathaniel watching her with the most curious look on his face. It wasn’t the sneer that he had adopted since she had first seen him in that holding cell, but it wasn’t anything that she had remembered from their past either. To her, it seemed as if Nathaniel was trying to figure out a complex puzzle and wondering if there was a piece that just might jump out and bite him in the process.

“Why do you do this?” he asked her.

She shrugged. “As much as you hate me, I wouldn’t like to see you get yourself killed on account of foolish pride.” She watched as he made no move to follow before sighing and turning back towards the hallway. He could come down whenever he was ready; she wasn’t going to beg.

“I could never truly hate you,” he said, his voice so soft and low that it was apparent that she hadn’t been meant to overhear. “I hate what you’ve done to my family.”

Moira tensed and blinked away tears. Hearing him finally follow after her on nearly silent feet, she straightened her posture and flexed her hands, ready to vent her mixed up feelings on any darkspawn that they encountered.

She imagined that had he been there, Alistair would have given her hand a supportive squeeze back.


	4. Chapter 4

“You going to stare at those swords all evening, or are you going to pick one already?”

Moira looked up from where had been contemplating several blades on a display rack in the Great Hall. After the ambush the keep had just gone through, she thought it wise to scatter a few weapons in easy to reach places instead of keeping everything locked up tight in the armory. She sighed. The armory had seen better days, it seemed. What had been there hadn’t been enough to arm even a handful of guards, and everything had been of poor quality. At least the better enchanted items she had brought with her added something to the place, their runes creating a pleasant sounding hum in the too-empty space.

“Sorry,” she said, her lips quirking upwards in a smirk. “I don’t have the elements at my disposal any time I want them, unlike _some_ of us here.”

Anders grinned. “Truly, I don’t know how you lesser people even manage.” He looked over her shoulder and pointed at a curved sword. “Why don’t you take that one? It looks pointy enough.”

“I thought you said that there were darkspawn to kill,” Nathaniel interrupted in a bored sounding tone, pitching his voice so that it carried from the pillar he was leaning against. He turned the arrow in his hands, inspecting it and setting it back inside his newly acquired quiver when it met his approval. He stretched his arms – the drakescale armor he had been provided with fit him almost as if it had been custom made to his specifications, which was odd, seeing that the cloth padding underneath still carried a faint lingering trace of lavender, letting him know just who the suit had belonged to.

The logical part of his brain thought that it made sense, in a way. He and Moira were of similar height, she being only a few inches shorter than he. Even with the differences in build, the armor only needed minor adjustments. Of course, the emotional part of his brain wanted nothing to do with her cast-offs with the dying remnants of the perfume he had so dearly missed. _I found a vendor here in Ostwick,_ he had written to her once. _The scent isn’t quite like the one you wear, but if I try hard enough, I can almost imagine you here with me._ Nathaniel shifted and watched as the scales seemed to glow in the light from the torches. Offhandedly, he wondered if she had purchased it as-is or if she had a hand in procuring the materials that made the set.

Moira’s back stiffened at his impatient tone and she strode off to another weapon stand, quickly picking two wickedly sharp longswords off the rack and experimentally flexing her wrists. “Ready then? I would hate to _waste_ any of your time.”

Nathaniel lifted an eyebrow as she breezed past him, her chin held high and a flinty look in her eye. So far, he had only seen her wearing the lone dagger at her back and he honestly didn’t think that her arms were strong enough to heft even _one_ of those swords with a single hand, let alone wield two swords at the same time with any level of effectiveness. Their sparring sessions in the past had always involved daggers, not anything as heavy as the blades she was currently swinging into sheathes buckled to her back.

“Just you wait,” Oghren said, announcing his presence at Nathaniel’s elbow with a belch. “She’s gonna prove you wrong.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

He shrugged. “Didn’t have to. That look you were giving her said it all.” He wiped his mouth after taking a swig from the pouch at his side. “Friendly word of warning: stay at least three feet away from her if you don’t want blood in your eyes. She gets messy when she starts hacking away at the bad guys.”

Nathaniel didn’t know what to say to that, so he remained silent as they walked as a group towards the basement. He stayed silent until he felt the most unsettling… _pull_ at his chest. It was almost as if someone had plunged their hand through his chest and yanked at his ribcage.

“What in the Maker’s name is that?” he whispered, rubbing his hand along his breastbone.

Moira pressed one of her hands against a nearby wall and closed her eyes. “Darkspawn,” she replied, her voice so quiet that he had to strain to hear her. “It feels odd at first, but you eventually get used to sensing them.”

“Kind of tingly, if you ask me,” Anders commented, his lips curled into an unpleasant grimace.

“Remind me not to go near the Deep Roads ever again,” Oghren said, hefting his axe in both hands. “If this is what three darkspawn feel like, I don’t want to know what hundreds do to me.”

“There’s more than three behind that door,” Moira told them, both of her swords making the faintest hiss as they escaped their sheaths. “There’s a magic user somewhere in there, can you feel it?” She could practically taste the sense of awareness thrumming through her body and she tried to place the Emissary further in the room. Experience told her that it would have to go first, but that it would more than likely be heavily guarded and difficult to get to. “Anders, I want you to spread out an area attack to distract the others while I take care of the Emissary.”

“Got it.”

“Oghren…”

“I’ve got your back, Warden. Just like old times.”

Moira had to grin and she was grateful that there was at least one person there that she had fought extensively with before. While she and Oghren weren’t as in tune with each other as she and Alistair were, they had always worked well together. Oghren usually waded into the fray first, grabbing their foe’s attention and leaving Moira to sneak up and attack from behind.

She felt something settle around her that made her look down. “This is new,” she commented, moving her arm so she could see what looked to be a barrier in the torchlight better.

Oghren shrugged. “Told ya I’ve got your back. I picked up a couple new tricks staying topside.”

“A Berserker _and_ a Guardian. Color me impressed.”

He looked pleased, but hid the expression in his beard. “Just don’t make me haveta use it that often. I’m still workin’ all the kinks out.” He gave her a sideways glance. “It, ah, might explode.”

“What would you have me do?” Nathaniel asked, reaching for an arrow. He was tense. This new ability to sense darkspawn was completely unnerving, but if Moira could stand there and seem unaffected by it, then he would do his best to do the same.

She turned her head towards him.   “Pick off the stragglers and help out anyone that may need it.” She didn’t give him a chance to say anything else; she snapped her foot out and kicked the door open. Nathaniel had a brief second to assess the room before everything erupted into a flurry of activity. Oghren let out a bellow as he rushed in, his axe sinking into the unprotected side of a hurlock. Anders dropped his sarcastic demeanor and looked deathly serious as a cone of ice flared from the end of his staff, freezing a shrieking monster with elongated claws in its place.

And Moira…the hair at the back of Nathaniel’s neck rose up on end at the sight of her pressing her way further into the room, her target clearly the darkspawn channeling magical energy. Not only was she fully capable of swinging each blade with one hand, but she was clearly _good_ at what she did. Oghren might have said that she crudely hacked her way through her enemies, but her movements looked more like a deadly dance instead, her body moving with a fluid grace he’d never seen before. Her left blade sank into a hurlock’s chest while her right blade cut into another that had tried to sneak up on her. She turned towards a new opponent in her way, the hair framing her face swinging with each movement as her arms shifted from one attack to another. At her back, Oghren bellowed as he sank his axe deep into the leg of another darkspawn, bringing it down to its knees. Without a word, Moira seamlessly pivoted, her sword shearing off its head as if the heavily muscled neck was nothing at all.

He couldn’t stop himself from thinking how _beautiful_ she was, even as her face was spattered with dark blood from her kill.

“A little _help_ here would be appreciated,” Anders muttered from Nathaniel’s left, pulling him out of his dazed stupor. Nathaniel shook himself, taking aim and letting an arrow fly.

Moira heard the arrow whizz past her ear and she turned, both her swords at the ready to defend herself from the hurlock that had snuck up behind her while she had been busy dispatching its partner. Fortunately for her, her would-be attacker was already falling to the ground, an arrow lodged firmly in its eye. She jumped over the corpse and rolled to the right, her back hitting a large crate that was serving as cover while she caught her breath and her bearings. All the shrieks were dead and the remaining hurlocks were either getting roasted via Anders or hacked into bits by Oghren, leaving only the Emissary to deal with. Moira hugged the nearby wall and tried to pinpoint just where it was. One false move and she could easily wind up on the wrong end of a deadly spell.

“Straight ahead and to your right!” Nathaniel yelled, letting another arrow sail over her head. Moira used it as a tracking device and sprung up from her hiding spot, a cry spilling from her lips as she lunged forward. Whatever spell the Emissary had been preparing had been interrupted by Nathaniel’s arrow and it struggled to free its leg from where it had been pinned to the floor. Swinging both her blades in unison, she brought them down in a deadly arc, severing the Emissary’s arm from its body and sending a splash of blood against the wall. It howled in agony and reached out with its other hand to send a blast of raw energy towards her.

There was a dark flicker at the edge of Moira’s peripheral vision and she was jerked to the side, the blast missing her completely. She pivoted on her heel to see just what had attacked her, but there was no one there. Another dark flicker in the corner of her eye had her turning back to her original enemy; with a yell, she made a move to plunge her sword into the Emissary’s chest, but stopped at the last second. Something wasn’t right.

“I should thank you for not running it through,” Nathaniel sarcastically quipped from behind the Emissary, the dagger he held imbedded deep into the darkspawn’s neck until the tip was visible from the front. Moira had to try to focus; she could clearly hear Nathaniel in front of her, but it was difficult to see him against the shadows that the sparsely lit room threw. If she had put her sword through the darkspawn like she had wanted to, she would have surely gotten Nathaniel as well.

“And I should thank you for pulling me aside,” she replied, wiping her blades on the now dead Emissary’s clothes before putting them away. Adrenaline was coursing through her veins and she fought to keep her voice from sounding unsteady.

“You did say to help anyone that needed it.” For the first time since he had seen her again, he dropped the cold tone from his voice. “You’re quite skilled; did I detect a hint of dualist training?”

She smirked. “Perhaps.” She had finally picked him out from amongst the shadows. “It seems as if Oghren isn’t the only one to pick up new talents.”

Nathaniel stepped around the corpse on the ground and into the light, seemingly materializing out of thin air. “Shadow skills do have their uses.”

“However did you get caught in the first place?” Moira wondered, the words coming out of her mouth before she could stop them.

He gave her a humorless snort. “Plain dumb luck, apparently.”

“Remind me never to get you angry while you’re around sharp objects,” Anders said, coming up next to them. “Any injuries?”

Moira rolled her shoulders and shook her head. “No.” There was a slight pull to her left arm that would more than likely need liniment afterwards and the bite from earlier would need a fresh bandage, but none of the blood on her armor was her own. There was a fine tremble to her arms from fatigue, but the rush of adrenaline would have to sustain her until they cleared the cellars.

“All that politicking you’ve done at the palace has made you soft,” Oghren huffed critically, crouching down to collect a few silver pieces from another corpse. “You’re running a little slower than usual. Your timing was off; it didn’t use to take you _nearly_ this long to cut up the bad guys.”

“So says the man who’s been enjoying the quiet married life since the Blight ended.” Moira sighed and rotated her right wrist. “But you are right; I am a little rusty.” While she hadn’t exactly stopped training while taking up residence in the palace, she could have used a little more time in the practice ring.

_If that was rusty,_ Nathaniel thought, _then I would hate to have seen her in top condition._ “Somehow I have a feeling that these weren’t the only darkspawn left,” he said instead, moving around the room to pick up discarded arrows to refill his quiver. His eyes casually read the years on several dusty bottles of wine racked nearby and he made a mental note to revisit the cellar when everything was all said and done.

“You’re right,” Moira said. “We can’t afford to linger here. Are you ready to continue, Anders?” While Morrigan had never admitted it during their travels, Moira had noticed that the mage had needed a brief rest to recover mana without having to resort to lyrium potions. Wynne had been the same way after doing any heavy healing, so Moira assumed that it was the same for all mages.

“Ready and able to zap baddies into oblivion,” he told her cheerfully, letting out a low whistle as he also scanned the labels in the wine racks. “The Arl had good taste.”

“Most of these were my grandfather’s,” Nathaniel agreed. He had a feeling that Anders was also thinking of revisiting the cellars after the threat was taken care of. Quiver finally restocked, he walked back over to Moira. The feeling in the center of his chest was back again.

“How many do you think are left?” he asked.

“It’s hard to say. How deep do these cellars go?”

Nathaniel shrugged. “I have no idea. We weren’t allowed to go down very far when I was younger.” The only thing that had stopped him in his youth was the fact that the doors leading deeper into the cellars had always been locked, but try as he might, he had never been able to pick them open.

Moira leaned against the wall and put her hands on her hips. “You do realize that we’re having a civil conversation. We haven’t said anything scathing to the other for at least fifteen minutes. It could be a record.” Moira snapped her mouth shut, wishing that she could take those words back. She was more tired than she thought if she was purposely baiting him. In truth, she was secretly pleased that Nathaniel had been impressed with her fighting skills, but oh, why did she have to go and ruin the moment?

Nathaniel tensed at her side. “If it makes you feel any better, I could sneer at you and say something vaguely insulting right about now.” He ran a hand through his hair and looked at her. She might not say anything, but he could see in her eyes just how spent she was. “I figured that I’d spend all my energy trying to stay alive instead of wasting my time arguing with you.”

“I…” she didn’t know what to say. “I appreciate that, Nathaniel.”

He frowned. “It doesn’t mean that I’ve forgiven you for what you’ve done, but I thought that if we’re going to be fighting together, the least we can do is be polite towards one another as we concentrate on a common enemy.” He gave her a sidelong glance and she could have sworn that the corner of his mouth quirked up, but it was too dark to tell. “Besides, I’ve now seen what an axe can do while a dwarf in full berserker mode swings it around. You were right; it _isn’t_ pretty.”

She let out a relieved sounding laugh, realizing that the knot that had settled in her chest had loosened. “I told you that it wasn’t.” She flexed her fingers and walked towards a closed door. “Are you ready to continue?”

Nathaniel nodded, fitting an arrow against his bow. “Lead the way, Commander.”


	5. Chapter 5

During the months before Warden-Commander Cousland took up her post as Arlessa of Amaranthine, Varel had made a habit of making rounds of the hallways before heading to bed. That habit mostly stemmed from his life as a soldier and while he was no longer in charge of the Vigil’s guardsmen, walking the entirety of the Keep and making sure that everything was secure was still an act deeply ingrained within him.

He felt a pang of guilt. Had he done his nightly walk earlier, perhaps he would have been able to save more people when the darkspawn had attacked. Varel’s leg ached, causing him to limp slightly. He should be resting, but he’d be damned if he didn’t complete his nightly ritual, even with four new Wardens on alert.

The new additions to the Keep gave him something to think about. The dwarf was brash and crude, but even in such a short time, Varel could see just how loyal he was to Commander Cousland. The apostate mage was a wild card; Varel hoped that taking him in was a wise decision and that Anders would repay the Commander’s show of mercy by proving to be good Warden. And the third…

As for the third, Varel had known Nathaniel since the boy’s birth. He’d watched him grow from an inquisitive yet quiet boy to a reserved and noble young man. It had been years since he’d laid eyes on him, and underneath the bitterness and anger, Varel could still see glimpses of the boy who had been so serious in his archery training and fiercely protective of his younger siblings. Recalling poor Mhairi’s fate, he’d been concerned during Nathaniel’s Joining ceremony, worried that the best of the Howes might be snuffed out like a candle merely by the luck of the draw.

And Varel hadn’t been the only one relived when Nathaniel passed the Joining. He recalled the way that his new Arlessa had rushed to Nathaniel’s side, catching him as he fell. Varel knew a little about their history: snippets of servant gossip saying how the Arl’s son was smitten with the Teyrn’s daughter and that she felt the same about him. There had been bets placed on a wedding happening soon after Nathaniel’s return, and Varel himself had been privy to the couple’s parting on the docks at Amaranthine. Understandably, there was a great amount of tension between them now, and Varel’s heart ached for them both.

That brought him back to the Commander. Before she had taken her post, he had thought that it would be strange to have to answer to a woman he knew nothing about. He had been locked up during most of the Blight, so he never heard anything of Moira Cousland’s deeds. All he had to base his speculations on were memories of the previous Arlessa. He clearly remembered Nathaniel’s mother as a lady who kept to herself, content to allow Arl Howe to run the lands as he saw fit. From the moment that he met her up until now, Varel could tell that this Cousland was not going to be like her predecessor. She was quick to think up solutions on her feet, barking out orders and organizing what little was left of their guardsmen and survivors like a general on the battlefield. He admired her ambition to make certain that the Keep was safe and that the needs of others were placed before her own, clearing out the cellars and personally checking in on the wounded before drawing water for her own bath herself. After, she had sought him out to inquire where her office was, saying that she’d like to draft a few letters before turning in, even though Varel could see just how exhausted she was, both physically and mentally.

As if he had summoned her, Varel found himself stopping in front of the closed door of Arlessa Howe’s old study. Normally, he would have given the new Arlessa directions to the Arl’s office, but the entranceway had been barred with debris and wouldn’t be available until efforts could be made to clear it later on. The tense line of her shoulders had relaxed somewhat at the news, making him believe that she hadn’t been ready to face yet another ghost of the Keep in a night already filled with them.

There was a bright line of light coming from under the door now, Varel noticed, watching as a shadow broke the line every now and again. _She paces,_ he thought, raising his hand to knock on the door. _Her father often did such. I wonder if she knowingly imitates him or if this is something she does without thinking about it._ His thoughts were interrupted when the door opened. She looked even more tired than she had when he had seen her last, her hair in disarray as if she had run her fingers through it multiple times. She’d shed her armor and weapons and seeing her wearing only a dark blue tunic and cream colored pants tucked into a pair of boots that reached up to her calf made her appear much smaller, less formidable than she had previously looked. She wasn’t unarmed: Varel caught the faintest outline close to the side of her right calf that told of a hidden dagger tucked within her boot. In his experience, if someone had one blade on their person, they normally carried others that were even better concealed.

“Oh,” she said, opening the door wider. “Seneschal Varel. Good evening.” 

“Good evening, Commander,” he answered. “I was heading to my quarters; I didn’t expect anyone to be awake at this hour.”

She ducked her head and he had the briefest glimpse of Moira Cousland, not the Commander of the Grey, but of the young lady who had yet to see thirty summers pass. If memory served him correctly, she was but twenty-eight years of age. _Too young to be wearing her cares on her face as she does,_ he thought. _And far too young to have had so much responsibility thrust upon her, no matter how gracefully she carries the weight._ “I find that I can’t sleep properly after encountering darkspawn,” she explained, stepping away from the doorway. “Please, come inside.”

She had made good use of her temporary office. The delicate writing desk the former Arlessa used to pen her letters at was littered with crumpled wads of paper and pen nib shavings. “I know it’s late, so I won’t keep you very long,” she said, gesturing towards the two high backed chairs flanking the fireplace.

“I am at your service, Commander,” he replied, waiting to see which chair she would take. His eyebrow slightly rose when she sat in the one that had its back pointed towards the stone wall instead of the one that would have put her back to the large bank of windows. He also saw how she had angled the chair so that she kept the door in plain sight as well. He wondered how much of that was her usual habit and how much of that had been recently made a habit after the Blight. “What do you need?”

She took a deep breath and perched her elbows on her knees. “What do you know about Nathaniel?”

_Ah. I was wondering how long it would be before she broached that topic._ “I know that he has been trained since practically birth to take over the arling,” he ventured. “He excelled in archery as well as close quarter combat with daggers. If memory serves correctly, he is also adept at stealth and dabbled a bit with poisons.” Considering the recent history between their families, Varel figured that his Commander wanted his opinion on how much of a potential threat Nathaniel might pose to her.

“Yes, I’m aware of all of that,” she told him, rising from her chair. She stopped in front of the fireplace and stared at the flames, her hands at her back. “And I’m prepared to defend myself if I need to, but I think that if Nathaniel truly wanted to kill me, he would have done so by now. He’s had plenty of chances already.”

“But you’ve only been together for a few hours.”

“And I already counted several ways that I could have done the deed, had I been in his shoes. With his shadow skills and some combat training on his side; I’m certain he was as aware of his opportunities as I was.” She sighed and turned back to him. “I was hoping that you could shed some light, or at least confirm some of my thoughts, on what sort of man he is. I would appreciate your honest opinion.”

“He was a kind young man, I do remember that. He treated his younger siblings with care and held his parents in the highest respect. He was courteous to those lower in station than he; surely these character traits couldn’t have vanished in the time that he has been away.” She nodded and he continued. “I haven’t had much time, but I’ve watched him and how he interacts with your fellow Wardens. He makes certain to put them at arm’s length, but he is not cruel.”

“No, he saves all his cruelty for me.” Varel was certain that Moira hadn’t meant for him to hear that, but then she sat back down and faced him. “He despises me for killing his father, for taking over his home.” She said it quietly, her shoulders slumped. She looked vulnerable right then that Varel had to push aside the sudden urge to comfort her.

“Rendon Howe was a vile man. You were in the right for taking his life.”

She looked up at him, her eyes gone hard and all traces of weakness gone in an instant. “I know that. I make no excuses for my actions, especially when that lying, traitorous excuse of a man murdered my family and then proceeded to drag my father’s name through the mud.” She clenched her hands into fists in her lap before taking a shaky breath. “I never expected to see Nathaniel again. After everything today, his anger feels like the knife I hadn’t anticipated.”

“It seems as if you’ve decided that he is not a threat.”

She gave a brief, humorless laugh. “Thinking that someone as talented as he isn’t a threat is like thinking that an injured bear is something one should snuggle up to. I’m not so blinded by the past that I can’t see what a deadly weapon he’s become in his time away, I just wish I knew what direction the blade was pointing. I think Nathaniel knows that he’s safer here with me alive; he’s content to inflict damage with his words alone.” She crossed her arms over her chest, her hands hugging her elbows. “Do you think that he’s still a good man?”

Varel weighed his words. He had only known his new Commander for a day, but he had already seen several conflicting views of her. She put out the image of being strong as steel in front of others, but here in the privacy of her study, she looked to be as fragile as glass. Since the first moment he had met her, she had an air of confidence, of surety about her that was suddenly absent now. “He was a good man when I knew him. As I said before, surely that couldn’t have changed in his absence.”

She nodded, her shoulders visibly relaxing. “Thank you. It’s a relief to know that someone else thinks that as well.” Getting up once more, she made her way to her desk. “I have something that I wish to entrust to you.” She came back with a sealed envelope.

“What is it?”

“My position as Arlessa as well as a Grey Warden puts me in an odd situation. Constant fighting during the Blight has made me more aware of my own mortality than I have ever been, and since the Orlesian Wardens entrusted you with our most private of secrets,” she gave him a look and it too everything in him to not duck his head. _How she looks like her mother,_ he thought, thinking back to the one time that he had seen the Teyrna get after her own children while they were guests in the Keep. She hadn’t said a word, but the stare she had leveled at the two younger Couslands was enough to wither them on the spot. “You must know that should we survive darkspawn attacks, our lifespan is greatly abbreviated.”

“I was made aware of this, yes.”

“My father taught me that in order to run a teyrnir, or an arling in this case, that one has to plan for the future. If I happen to fall in battle, that letter you hold names the person I have entrusted the arling to.”

“And who would that be?”

She worried her bottom lip between her teeth. “That would be Nathaniel Howe.”

He tensed and sat up straighter in his chair. “But, Commander!”

She held up a hand. “You said it yourself: he is a good man that has been trained since practically birth to take over the arling. Who else here would be better suited for the job?”

“And the manner that he came back doesn’t concern you?”

She shook her head. “Nathaniel said that he wanted to collect what few family keepsakes he could gather and then leave peacefully.”

Varel harrumphed. “His definition of _peaceful_ meant that one of my guards suffered a broken nose and another had his eye blackened.” Even if he had been seneschal for several years now, he still considered the soldiers of the Keep to be _his_ soldiers. _Old habits die hard, don’t they?_

“And they got in their fair share of punches; I don’t expect that the bruises on his ribs and shoulders appeared by themselves.” The firelight might have given the illusion, but Varel was certain that Moira’s cheeks reddened. “I saw the damage when he was changing into his armor,” she added, though as his superior, Varel knew that she didn’t need to explain her actions.

“If this is your decision, then I will stand by it,” he said slowly. “You are correct; he is the most suited for this position.”

She twisted her fingers in her lap. “You don’t think that I stole his lands from him, do you?”

“No, Commander, I do not. King Alistair gave them to you to rule, as is his right to do with the spoils of war. Legally, they were yours to begin with anyway; you demanded blood rights and won a duel with Arl Howe. By rule, the victor gains their opponent’s holdings.” He tilted his head. “Do _you_ believe that you have stolen these lands from him?”

“I…I don’t know any more.” She stared at the fire. “There was once a time when nothing would have made me happier than to become the Arlessa of Amaranthine. I just never dreamt that it would happen this way.”

He knew it was a breach of protocol, but he couldn’t help it. She looked so lost just then that it seemed natural to lean over and touch her shoulder. “You have allies here, Commander,” he told her. “You saved my life on that rooftop today; I am grateful to you in ways that can never be repaid. Please, don’t think that you’re alone here. If you need to borrow a friendly ear from time to time, you know where to find me.”

She looked up at him and gave him a grateful smile. “Thank you, I appreciate it.” She stretched. “I think I’m going to investigate the kitchens and see about brewing some tea. There is much to be done tomorrow; I need to try to get some rest.”

“I can wake the kitchen staff, if you like.” That was something else he was going to have to deal with in the morning; the darkspawn attack had killed many of the Keep’s servants; he’d have to compile a list to present to Moira to see how she would want to go about filling empty positions. She spoke of her father teaching her how to run a teyrnir efficiently; from what contact he had with Bryce Cousland over the years, he could easily believe that his daughter would be familiar with how to run a castle. Vigil’s Keep wasn’t as expansive as Castle Cousland, so he didn’t see her having much difficulty.

“No, that isn’t necessary. There isn’t a need to wake anyone; I can manage boiling water on my own.” She stood and he mirrored her.

“Good night, Commander.”

“Moira.”

“Pardon?”

She looked up at him. Standing next to her, he realized that where he first thought of her as being diminished out of her armor was completely incorrect. She was tall in stature and he could see that she held herself with the usual grace that was expected from nobility, but underneath that was a lithe sort of strength, almost as if she were a spring ready to snap into action at a moment’s notice. “I’m going to come to depend on you a lot,” she told him. “I can already see that you are the reason that Amaranthine has run as smoothly as it has all this time; if we’re going to be working in such close quarters, I think we can move past titles.”

He had to smirk at that. “I’m sorry; it’s just that you reminded me of something someone told me once.”

“Oh?”

“If you don’t mind me saying, your father said the exact same thing to me when I took my office.”

She took a breath, her hand going to a chain around her neck. The pendant was hidden inside her shirt, but he could make out a ring that looked like a wedding band threaded through the chain. “That does sound like something my father would say.” He thought that he might have upset her, but then her eyes softened and her lips curled upwards into a fond smile. “Did you have many dealings with him?”

“Very few. He dealt with the Arl more than I, but he made certain to speak to me when he visited the Vigil. I had the honor of being his guest at Highever during a tournament once when I had still been a Captain.” Now that he thought about it, he recalled seeing a slip of a girl who was never introduced to him, probably because her father never knew that she was hiding in the shadows of the barracks, listening in on their conversation. She had been young, the clothes she had worn obviously belonged to someone else; the tunic had been baggy on her slim frame and the pants had been rolled up over her legs.

“I remember that.”

He chuckled. “Your own Captain had promised to show me a veritable terror in the training circle, but I never got to witness it.”

Moira’s fingers brushed against another ring on her necklace. “Mother forbade me to fight that day. I was stuck on the sidelines in a dress watching as Fergus and Nathaniel got to participate.”

“And yet it seems as if I was able to see you fight after all.” His lips quirked up. “Ian had been right; you _are_ a terror on the battlefield.”

She grinned and for the first time that day, his Commander looked at ease. “I do believe that I’m going to enjoy working with you, Varel.”

“And I with you, Moira.” _Calling her by her given name will not do in public, but perhaps here it will do._ “Good night.” He walked with her until the hall forked, one way going towards the main part of the Keep where the kitchens were and the other going towards the servant’s quarters, where his own bedchamber lay. “If you still have trouble sleeping, I’d suggest a walk on the battlements. The view from there is quite lovely.”

“Thank you, I think I’ll visit them.” He had been watching her as she walked away, but he still started when it seemed as if she disappeared into the darkness of the hall, her boots soundless on the stone. Hiding a yawn behind his hand, he stared at the letter in his other, the wax sealing the envelope devoid of any imprinted crest. It seemed heavier than the paper had a right to be and he wondered about its author; how could someone insist that her supposed enemy take her place should she fall in battle? She hadn’t instructed him to, but he decided to keep the letter a secret from Nathaniel, should he turn out to be poor in character and decide to take the Commander’s life as a way to regain the title and lands that had been lost.  While Varel believed that Nathaniel was the best of the Howes, Moira had saved his life on that rooftop. He knew where his loyalties now stood.

“Different indeed,” he mused, shaking his head and continuing his rounds.


	6. Chapter 6

Even after everything that had happened that day, Nathaniel found sleep elusive. He had settled down in his bed – and he had to laugh at being assigned his childhood room – but every time he slipped into the dreaming world, he’d be attacked by darkspawn.

The latest dream had been of a hurlock gripping at his hair with enough force to pull his head back while a corrupted version of Moira shoved the Joining chalice against his lips and forced him to drink.

_Join us or die,_ she had hissed, her eyes clouded over and teeth bared. He’d struggled against her grip on his chin, the blood from the cup hissing as it splashed against his mouth. _As if I gave you a choice._

He’d jolted awake with a gasp after that one, his hand wiping at his face and the phantom taste of coppery blood bitter at the back of his throat. He had pushed himself out of bed, uncaring if the legs of his trousers were uncomfortably stuffed inside the boots he had jammed on and tugging a shirt over his head as he fled the room.

When he had been younger, Nathaniel had a habit of wandering the Keep during bouts of sleeplessness, especially after unpleasant dreams. It seemed as if that tendency hadn’t changed now that he was older. Even after being gone for so long, the hallways and corridors were as familiar to him as they had always been, even if they were now quieter with so few people about. Without really noticing where he was going, he found himself atop the highest battlement, the view overlooking the sea.

Adria had loved the sea.

With that thought, Nathaniel leaned his forearms against the battlement’s ledge and bowed his head as he recalled what they had encountered only hours ago in the deepest portion of the cellars. He didn’t know for certain, but he thought that he might have handled the news of her death slightly better if he hadn’t been the one to have actually killed her. He let out a shuddering breath as he scrubbed his hands over his face, the memory of her charging at him with daggers in her hands and a feral expression on her usually serene face still fresh in his mind.

A slight noise had him quickly standing up and whirling around, body tense and feet already in a defensive position to strike if he’d needed to. Moira stood in the doorway leading downstairs, a mug of something steaming in her hands. “I’m sorry,” she hesitantly said, already backing up. “I didn’t know that anyone was here.”

“There’s plenty of room for someone else,” Nathaniel told her. “Not like you don’t own the keep or anything now.” He shifted over and watched her from the corner of his eye as she flinched at his words. She stood with her shoulders straight before letting out a breath and leaning against the wall a few feet away. She was dressed as plainly as he was, which shouldn’t have struck him as odd. He wanted to keep up the idea that Moira would have jumped at the chance to wear something befitting her title as Arlessa, perhaps even going so far as to plunder his mother’s chests and closets, if even any of those fine gowns made of silk and satin were still even in his parents’ old room. The dark blue shirt looked worn about the collar and there were patches sewn neatly at the elbow.

He counted at least three knives hidden on her person. Had he not been trained in spying just where she had hidden them, they would have gone completely unnoticed.

The breeze picked up and carried over the scent of the tea she was carefully sipping. “Couldn’t sleep?” Moira asked, breaking the silence.

“No.”

She took another sip before cautiously setting her mug on the surface of a nearby crenel. “I never sleep well after a fight,” she admitted. “Sometimes I wonder if the dreams I have are actual darkspawn or just ordinary nightmares.”

He opened his mouth before realizing it. “Do they happen often?” What he knew about the Wardens was enough to fill a thimble; if he were to spend the rest of his life as one, he would like to know as much as he could. Surely the shortened lifespan and unsettling ability to detect darkspawn couldn’t be the extent of his newly gained powers.

She shook her head. “Not as often as they did during the Blight, but just enough to let me know that they’re in the area.” She was silent for a beat, her eyes fixed on the view in front of them. “I know you may think this insincere, but I’m truly sorry about Adria.”

“She was like a mother to me,” he said softly, looking away from Moira and out towards the sea again. “In truth, she was more of a mother than my actual one. Even after Delilah and Thomas were born, she always had time for me.”

“I remember her when she would accompany your family to our home. She was a remarkable woman.”

For a moment, Nathaniel’s desire to remember his former governess as she had been outweighed the petty need to constantly trade barbs with Moira. “After we all grew too old for a nanny, my father had her move into the kitchens. She’d often make these amazing apple pastries that she’d set aside for us.” She’d add an extra sprinkle of sugar atop his. _A sweet for my favorite sweet_ , she’d often tell him, pressing a kiss to his cheek even after he’d grown far too old and far too tall for such displays of affection.

He’d accepted her kisses anyway, bending down so she could reach.

“My governess did the exact same thing,” Moira said quietly, rubbing her arms to combat the nighttime chill. “Except she would let Fergus and I have spice cookies and warn us not to ruin our appetites for supper.” She hadn’t realized it until now, but she had been affected by Adria’s death as well. Standing over the woman’s body had brought a memory of finding Nan in the castle’s kitchens on that horrible night. For a brief moment there in the cellars, Moira’s mind brought up the smell of burning wood and the coppery scent of blood. The sudden flashback had brought bile up to Moira’s throat and left her heart thumping wildly against her breastplate before she had composed herself. There had been so much blood that night: just like Adria, an arrow had protruded from Nan’s breast, and Moira remembered how the moonlight from the kitchen windows had caught on the fillet knife still clutched tightly in Nan’s hand.

Moira had known Nan to be many things, but cowardly had not been one of them. She’d stood her ground in the domain she’d called her own for years, taking several of Howe’s men down with her before being overpowered.

“I remember those,” Nathaniel told her, bringing her out of her thoughts. “Fergus and I would always wander in and out of the kitchens whenever I visited Highever. Nan used to spoil me with those meat and potato pastries of hers she knew I favored.”

“You always were Nan’s favorite, even more so than Fergus or me. I think that’s because you were the best behaved out of us three older children and never gave her trouble.” She couldn’t help but smile fondly at the memory. “I know that Adria always spoke highly of you. I have a feeling that you were her favorite as well.”

He looked up at the night sky, his mind going back to the many times that as a very young boy, Adria would allow him to sit in her lap while she read story after story to him. Most of her tales had been about pirates or rogues or young men setting off to find their fortunes, and he had been enchanted by the way she made the words come off the page. She was the one to first teach him how to read and write before any tutors, and it had been her that he had gone to first to share any news.

She had most certainly been the first one to know about Moira. She had been the _only_ one to know how he had truly felt about Bryce Cousland’s daughter. “She liked you very much,” he said softly. He clenched his hands into fists and grit his teeth. “By Andraste, the _screams…_ ”

Moira tentatively put a hand on his arm, unable to stop herself. The move made him turn his head towards her and her heart twisted at the anguished look on his face. “That hadn’t been her,” she said carefully, trying to find the right words.

“Then what? By the time we had made it down to her, she had already been turned into a ghoul?”

“Yes.”

“But wasn’t there anything that we could have done differently? Isn’t there any cure?”

Moira shook her head. “As far as we know, there isn’t. Once a person is tainted, they cannot be turned back. She would have suffered even more if you hadn’t…”

“Hadn’t killed her, you mean.” His voice was bitter with a brittle edge to it, as if he were trying to keep his emotions in check. He wasn’t paying attention, so he tensed when he felt Moira lean against his side in an almost, but not quite embrace.

“What was that for?” he asked, looking down at her as she moved away.

“You looked like you needed it,” she explained, looking away from him. “I know that it wasn’t welcome, and you won’t believe me when I say it, but…” she looked back up at him and gave him a sad smile. “I can’t bear to see you so unhappy.”

At any other time, Nathaniel was certain that he would have lashed out with a scathing comment, but just then he felt so bare, his nerves so completely _raw_ , that he went with his gut instinct. Turning so that he was facing her, he reached out and wrapped her up in a proper embrace before she could recoil away from him.

“Thank you,” he murmured, his words muffled by the cushion of her hair. He couldn’t help but tighten his arms around her, remembering the last time that he had held her like this. _This was a mistake,_ he thought, feeling his throat close up on itself and his heart roll painfully in his chest. He closed his eyes tightly, wondering how much more loss he would have to go through before he finally became numb to his grief. Moira let out a noise that almost sounded like a muffled sob. He felt her hands slide up his back, grabbing onto his shirt and holding on as if her life depended on it. Her face was pressed against the crook of his neck and he tried to ignore the way that the skin there felt damp, her breath warmly puffing against his throat. Nathaniel didn’t know how long they stood there like that, but he eventually let go of her and stepped back.

“You’re welcome,” she turned her back on him, her voice thick as she replied. Moira’s fingers were trembling as she reached for her discarded mug, her eyes blinking rapidly to try to gain some control over the situation. “I think I’m going to try and get some sleep. We have a big day ahead of us tomorrow.” Mistress Woolsey had explained how the trade routes between Amaranthine and Denerim had recently been under attack and it was crucial to Amaranthine’s economy to make sure that the roads stayed safe. Moira was planning on going into town in the morning to see if she could get any information from the Merchant’s Guild first before setting out on a scouting trip to see if she could find anything suspicious.

Unfortunately, it _was_ almost morning. If Moira wanted to be alert, she was going to have to get some rest before the sun came up. Still completely shaken from Nathaniel’s unexpected hug, she wondered just how difficult it was going to be to sleep after all. “Goodnight, Nathaniel.”

“Goodnight.” He watched as she walked down the stairs leading back into the Keep before leaning heavily against the parapet wall. Things were so different now. With Adria gone, the last link to his former life was gone as well. He didn’t know where he belonged or how he was supposed to act as a Warden.

_Figure things out as you go, my angel,_ Adria had once been fond of telling him when he came to her with his problems. _Things might not be as bad as you think they are._ Nathaniel sighed and headed towards the stairs. He had a great deal of things to figure out, starting with Moira. If they were to work together to solve this mystery of talking darkspawn, he knew that they would need to come to some sort of truce where they weren’t constantly biting the other’s head off and acting in a civilized manner towards the other.

Yet a small voice in the back of his mind, one that sounded suspiciously like his former governess, whispered that _he_ had been the one doing the biting while she had taken nearly all his barbs in silence without volleying back shots of her own.

_I can’t bear to see you so unhappy._ He quietly made his way back towards his bedchambers, mulling over her words. Did she still feel something for him, even after everything she claimed his father had done to her, to her family? His fingers went to the ring he wore around his neck. Was he wise to feel this odd sort of hope that she did? Or was he a fool for wondering if she had been as affected by their hug as he had been?

He kicked off his boots and flopped onto his bed. “She was acting on pity,” Nathaniel said to the ceiling. “Probably doesn’t want any of her soldiers to be distracted, so she just acted like she cared. She’s a killer; what’s to stop her from being a liar as well?” Somehow that explanation didn’t ring true to him, but he decided to believe it nonetheless, if only so that his mind would stop lingering on the what-ifs when it came to her. If there was anything positive that he could take out of their conversation, it was that talking to Moira managed to help push the horrifying images of Adria to the back of his mind, allowing him to remember the fallen woman as she had once been, not what she had become in her last moments.

It was too bad that their talk and the emotions it had stirred up hadn’t done anything for his sleeplessness. He rolled to his side and held onto his pillow, still feeling the ghostly imprint of Moira’s body in his arms. For a brief second, it hadn’t mattered to him that she might have lied to him, that the tears still drying on the collar of his tunic might have been fake. All that mattered was that the scent of lavender still lingering on his clothes gave him some measure of peace, if only for a little while.


	7. Chapter 7

“Don’t see why we left the mage behind,” Oghren complained, grunting while Moira applied a bandage to the side of his face. The sticky paste of healing herbs she had slathered on beforehand tingled as it worked its way into the deep cut he had recently suffered. She, Oghren and Nathaniel hadn’t gotten three feet into the Wending Wood when they had been ambushed by bandits. One of the ruffians had grazed Oghren with an arrow, and Moira couldn’t help but think how his temple would have been undamaged if he’d been properly equipped.

“And I don’t see why you left your helmet behind,” she replied, brushing her hands off before tending to herself. She could feel blood running down her forearm and she hoped that she wouldn’t have to give herself any stitches to hold her over until someone with more medical knowledge than Oghren could take a look at it. The lopsided scar she had on the back of her left calf was all the proof she needed of his lack of sewing skills.

Oghren shrugged. “They got in a lucky shot.” He gestured to her arm. “If the mage were here, he could have patched that up for you lickety-split.”

“His name is Anders and said that he wanted to sit this one out. Something about the woods giving him the creeps.” She dipped her fingers into the glass jar of healing paste and took out a smaller amount than what she had used on Oghren. The ambush hadn’t been expected this close to the entrance of the woods, yet they were prepared for combat further on down the trail. They had a good cache of healing supplies on hand, but Moira wanted to conserve what they had all the same, especially since she didn’t know exactly how long it would take to get through the woods and back to the keep. Wrapping a strip of linen around her injury, she cursed her armor’s sad lack of protection in that area. Actually the set had several weak points around the joints, but the chestplate was sturdy and had kept her safe through countless skirmishes. While it wasn’t the best at covering up her arms and legs, she liked that the entire kit was lightweight and supple enough for her to quickly maneuver on the battlefield, plus it stayed silent when she needed to rely on her stealth. 

Besides, Wade had been so proud of himself when he had presented it to her in Denerim and his productivity went up a notch whenever he saw her wearing one of his creations. She’d endure patching herself up if it meant that her soldiers at the Keep would get better armor in a timelier manner. Maybe she’d challenge him when he started complaining about the living conditions by requesting that his next set for her have certain requirements. “You never complained about using poultices and pastes before.”

Oghren snorted as he checked the edge of his axe. “That’s because Morrigan was the one in charge of making them for us. You try complaining to her. She probably put frog guts and who knows what else in ‘em.”

Moira smirked and shook her head, her fingers clumsy as she tried to tie the bandage one-handed. “I certainly hope not,” she said, moving her fingers aside when Oghren took over, wincing as he fastened the bandage a little tighter than she would have. “I’ve been making these all wrong if she had.” Morrigan had been their principal healer before Wynne had joined their group. The vast majority of her spells were of a destructive nature instead of medicinal, but she had an encyclopedic knowledge of potions and healing poultices. Over the months of travel, Moira had befriended her and Morrigan had taught her skills that most herbalists depended on in return. Morrigan could have stopped teaching her when Moira had gotten the hang of the basics, but Moira liked to think that the normally reclusive apostate had liked her company enough that she had continued to teach until Moira knew how to create third tier remedies. She was certain that by putting in a little more effort and using manuals as a guide that she’d be able to expand her knowledge even further.

Moira scanned the horizon for any other bandits. She thought about Morrigan and the child that Loghain had fathered, hoping that they were all right wherever they were. She couldn’t help but wonder about the little boy or girl with the soul of an Old God. Did they have eyes similar to those of their queenly sister or did they favor the flint-sharp ones of their father? Was their hair as dark as their mother’s? Had they even lived past infancy, seeing that the last report that had come in had placed a pregnant Morrigan wandering the Frostback Mountains. While staying true to her word, Moira had never actively tried to find them, but little hints here and there during darkspawn scouting reports had shown up.

“I’d say there are about twenty, maybe thirty more bandits wandering around somewhere,” Oghren said, looking into the trees.

“More like ten or twelve, if you look at the footprints,” Moira pointed out, flexing her arm to test the bandage and sighing in relief as the poultice numbed the pain. “Something happened to scare them all, which is why they’re all scattered like they are.”

“This doesn’t look like the work of regular bandits,” Nathaniel noted, looking closer at the ruined caravan. Broken tree branches were jabbed into the splintered wooden frame. He too had noticed the way that the dirt path had been littered with scuffed up footprints, almost as if someone was trying to run from something.

Moira nodded. “I agree.” She turned over a broken log with her foot, revealing a partially hidden chest. “We should all keep our eyes open for anything suspicious.” The lock was easy to pick, and Moira noticed that there was a bolt of silk fabric inside. She ran her hand over it, appreciating the texture, before taking it out and putting it into her bag.

“I can’t believe you’re going to try to collect them all now,” Nathaniel said.

She found another bolt of fabric in a nearby crate and gathered it in her arms, mindful of not getting blood on it. “And why not? If we wait any longer, then perhaps the bandits that we’re looking for will come back and get their prizes. It’s best to collect everything now while we have the chance.” She looked up at him. “I don’t know if you noticed, but Amaranthine’s marketplace was in shambles. We aid the Merchants’ Guild and they aid us by bringing commerce back to the city.” She kept her thoughts about how the sorry state of the city’s economy more than likely had begun before the Blight, not really wanting to start an unnecessary argument when they had better ways to spend their time and energy. Besides, they had settled into a slightly uneasy truce after the night on the battlements. She knew that she had started to thaw towards him, the memory of his arms around her as he held her that night giving her hope that perhaps they could salvage something of their old relationship out of this mess.

He arched his eyebrow, silently thinking about how Moira was planning on carting so many bolts of cloth with a still full pack. “And I take it that you’re going to do those rubbings for that scholar as well?”

She shrugged. “Perhaps. It depends on where these statues are located and if there’s any danger around them. And before you ask, yes, I am going to find Ines for Wynne. She’s a dear friend of mine and I owe it to her to at least look.” She came to the same conclusion that Nathaniel had, taking a spare blanket out of her satchel and rolling up the few bolts of cloth before quickly finding a hiding place for them in the hollow of a nearby tree.

“Would have been better if she was around,” Oghren grumped. “She would have just waved her staff and healed us all by now.”

Moira rolled her eyes before moving further down the path, deliberately flicking Oghren’s ear with her finger as she passed him. Nathaniel silently followed in his customary spot at the back of their group, ready to defend his companions should they get into another fight. It was strange how they had all come to an unspoken agreement on battle arrangements. Oghren took the lead as well as the brunt of the blows while Moira flanked their enemy as Nathaniel and Anders stayed behind to inflict injury at a distance. Nathaniel’s job was to pluck off any enemies that might come from behind their two main damage dealers as well as defend Anders while the mage concentrated to cast spells. Seeing that Anders had decided to stay at the Keep for this investigation, Nathaniel was able to focus more on keeping his other two fellow Wardens alive.

Fewer distractions also meant that he was able to contemplate Moira’s fighting techniques. He grudgingly acknowledged that she was skilled: her attacks were quick and efficient, her blades making the most impact while wasting very little energy. Her fighting style, especially when she switched to using short swords instead of dual longswords, almost reminded him of something he’d seen during his tour of the Antivan border and he clearly recognized techniques unique to the assassins that lived there, making him wonder how she had picked up her skills. She had mentioned an assassin she had befriended: had they been the one to teach her? She was exceptionally skilled at taking her opponent by surprise with a stab in the back.

_A stab in the back,_ Nathaniel thought, the words forming bitterly in his mind. _It seems that it’s something the Couslands are good at._ He might not know the full story of what happened that night, but he still refused to believe that his father would kill the Teyrn of Highever along with the rest of his family. It made no sense to him; as an arling, Amaranthine depended on Teyrn Cousland’s protection. Besides, his father and Bryce had been friends for years. They’d ridden off into battle together; their children had grown up together and befriended the other…

Crossing his arms protectively across his chest, he glanced at Moira. Once upon a time, Nathaniel would have gladly called her his wife and would have been overjoyed to hear her call him her husband. She was kneeling beside the trail, her fingers tracing an odd print in the ground. One hand absently pushed some hair behind her ear and away from her cheek, leaving a faint smudge of dirt in its wake that his fingers itched to brush away. He may hate what she did to his family, but he couldn’t deny that she was still as beautiful as she had been when he left her on the docks a decade ago, if not even more so. 

_A snake can have lovely scales,_ he reminded himself, his mouth settling into a frown and fingers digging into his biceps. _Yet its venom is still deadly._ Shaking his head, he brought himself back to the present.

“This is not a bandit’s mark,” he said, crouching down beside her. He eyed the outline of a footprint, or what he guessed was a footprint, although it was far too wide and odd-shaped to belong to a man. 

“It looks almost like a tree root,” Moira said, looking further down the trail, her eyes scanning the treeline instead of the road ahead. “There were living trees that had attacked us in the Brecilian Forest; these could be the same type of creatures.”

“Any hints on how to fight them if they attack?”

Moira sighed, wishing that Anders had decided to join them. “Fire. It seemed to work best, or at least distract them enough that Alistair and I could get in enough hits to bring them down.” She looked down at her left side. While her armor covered it, she knew that there was a jagged white scar that ran along the outside of her arm from her wrist to her elbow. “Be careful; they tend to summon thorny roots that will surround an entire person.”

“Not your run of the mill rose thorns, I gather?”

“No, much worse.” The root that had caused her scar had gone deep enough to hit bone. It was a wonder that it hadn’t gone through her arm entirely. “There’s smoke in the distance.”

Nathaniel nodded. “It’s small, more than likely from a campfire.” He reached behind him and took out an arrow from his quiver. “We should probably keep alert for an ambush.”

She looked at him, opening her mouth as if to say something. Nathaniel noticed that it seemed like she was having a hard time getting her thoughts in order. “Commander?” he asked, arching his eyebrow. “Was there anything else you wanted to add?”

“I was just going to say that I forgot how well you could read tracks. It’s been quite some time since we last wandered the woods together.” Her eyes softened for a moment and the corner of her mouth lifted into a faint smile. “And I wanted to thank you, for watching my back.”

Nathaniel felt something in his chest unfurl at her praise, but he brutally squashed it down. “I’m only doing what’s expected of me,” he replied coolly, moving away from her. He tried to deny feeling guilty at seeing her smile quickly disappear and her eyes harden as she slipped back behind her role as Warden-Commander, but couldn’t quite manage to. He’d noticed the way she had treated him as they traveled: she had thought she had gained some sort of ground with him after the night on the battlements. He’d thought about their encounter, spending most of their walk from the keep to the woods upset with himself for allowing himself a moment of weakness. What would his father think, to know that Nathaniel had welcomed the touch of his killer? He still hadn’t gathered the courage to ask about his brother or sister, and he dreaded the moment Moira confirmed the deaths he feard.

“Of course,” she said quietly, unsheathing her blades and moving ahead of him, her body tense and braced for an attack. 

“You’ve gone and pissed her off,” Oghren commented, falling into step beside Nathaniel. “Don’t know what the whole history is between you two, but I’ve never seen her like this.”

Nathaniel snorted. “I seem to have that effect on people.”

Oghren’s eyes narrowed. “Just a friendly warning; the Warden’s on the short list of people I consider my friends. You keep on pissing her off and you piss me off, understood?”

“Understood.”

“Good.” Oghren rested his axe on his shoulder, eyes on the trees lining the trail ahead of them as he watched for another ambush. “One good thing about her mood is that she gets rid of the bad guys faster when she’s mad. Takes them down harder too. I’d sure hate to be in their place.”

Nathaniel couldn’t help but notice that the dwarf was staring at him pointedly. “Also noted,” he said dryly. He fitted an arrow against his bow and took a shot, hitting a bandit that was about to jump from their hiding spot above them. The bandit gave a gurgled cry as he fell, the arrow lodged in his throat. The bandit’s cry brought others to his aid and Moira spun on her heel, taking out one as he charged at her with a well-placed blow. Nathaniel’s eyes widened when he saw one of the trees uproot itself and slowly lumber towards them. Oghren ran to Moira’s side, his rusty sounding chuckle trailing behind him. Her answering laugh followed and the trail, muddy to begin with, soon ran red.

Nathaniel shook his head as he took aim at the others who had come running towards them. “I’m surrounded by lunatics,” he muttered to himself, moving to the side to avoid the swing of Oghren’s axe. His foot slipped as he stepped in a patch of mud, making his arrow hit his target in the leg instead of the chest as he had originally intended it to. “Next time, I’m making Anders go along and I’ll stay at the Keep.”


	8. Chapter 8

_Well,_ Nathaniel thought sarcastically, _the day really couldn’t get any worse than this._ First they’d been ambushed – _again –_ just moments after stepping foot inside the mines, knocked out, taken prisoner, and had Maker only knew what sort of tests run on them. His head hurt and the boots he had scavenged off a darkspawn he had to strangle with his bare hands fit terribly ill. His only consolation was that the armor he’d also lifted off it was serviceable enough.

Oghren wasn’t much better off: the armor that Moira insisted he wear was meant for someone much taller, but at least he was protected. And Velanna, their newest companion, was arguing how she needed the armor Moira was insisting she wear less than Moira did.

And Moira…she had done most of her fighting barefoot, still in the clothing that she had woken up in. She’d been relying on her stealth and the darkened corners of the mines to get her through while she made certain that her other companions were protected before her. Nathaniel felt a flush of shame as he clutched the knife she had pressed into his hands. She had apologized for not finding anyone wielding a bow for him, giving him the better knife out of the two she had found.

Now that they had defeated Oghren and Velanna’s doppelgangers, at least she was better equipped and he had a better pair of boots after he and Velanna had traded gear. He still didn’t have a bow, but Moira gave him a second dagger, insisting that she was good with the one.

He only wished that he had been better equipped mentally to deal with what came next. Realistically, he should have already been expecting to square off with his double. In a way, he had been, growing ever angrier at the idea that some copy of himself would be wearing _his_ armor and wielding _his_ bow. Nathaniel’s throat felt naked without his usual necklace. Having his ring stolen from him incensed him beyond belief and by the time he glimpsed his double lurking in the shadows, he was more than ready to slice it to ribbons.

What he hadn’t prepared himself for was the fact that Moira’s double had zeroed in on him before he even had an opportunity to dodge her blades. His blood ran cold at her screeches as he blocked her attacks, his mind remembering Adria’s screams as a rather convincing copy of Moira snarled in his face. The better quality short swords it held scraped along his scavenged daggers as he trapped them, placing a boot against the double’s midsection to kick it away from him. That sickening tugging sensation he still hadn’t gotten used to became stronger as darkspawn joined the attack. Still fending off Moira’s double, Nathaniel vaguely heard Oghren let loose a battle cry and the crackle of electricity from Velanna’s staff made his hair stand on end.

Nathaniel grit his teeth. Not only did the double have Moira’s face and gear, but it seemed as if it also possessed the same level of skill as she did. He let out a cry when one of its knives sliced open his arm, his attacks bouncing ineffectively off its better armor.

“Kill it!” Moira yelled from his right, ducking as an arrow whizzed past her ear. She traced it back to the far end of the room where Nathaniel’s twin stood, already taking aim at her again. She was too far away to help Nathaniel, and she knew that Oghren and Velanna had the rapidly dwindling darkspawn numbers under control. Shoving herself behind a jutting out portion of rock, she used the dim light to her advantage. Holding her breath, she sank into the shadows, remembering all the lessons in stealth that Leliana had taught her. She managed to get in close enough range to see the sallow skin of Nathaniel’s imposter, noting how it turned its bow left and right, its eyes scanning the cavern. It had three targets in plain view to shoot at, but it seemed as if it was searching _specifically_ for her. Her grip on the lone blade she had picked up was slippery as her palms began to sweat. _That isn’t him,_ she thought, slinking around a column made up of wooden scaffolding. _Keep your eyes off its face and treat it just as you would any other enemy._ If she could get closer, she could put an Assassin’s Mark on it. Her mind went back to the countless nights on watch where she and Zevran would practice the maneuver over and over again until she had performed it to his satisfaction. _It will be fun,_ the Antivan had assured her. _I will make it fun._

She knew that she shouldn’t have taken her eyes off her target, but she couldn’t help but look back at Nathaniel. With the cold, barely civil way he had been treating her since they had met up again, she would have thought that he would have relished having the chance to plunge his knives into her clone’s heart.

The anguished look that twisted his features stole her breath and told her otherwise. Even from where she was at, she could see that he was hurt, blood running down his arm. He was fighting defensively; she remembered how well he used to be in swordplay when he and Fergus would spar, but he wasn’t attacking at all, even when her double presented a clear opening. He tried to stun it, but it seemed as if her double had the same resistances that she herself did. Letting out the breath she had been holding, she ran up to Nathaniel’s imposter, her knife hitting its bow, the blow snapping the bowstring and sending teeth-jarring aftershocks up her arm. “Under the arm,” she yelled, circling her enemy. It had thrown the now useless bow to the side and took out the lone dagger Nathaniel had picked out from the Keep’s armory. “There’s a weak spot in my armor on the left side, close to the clasps near the ribcage.”

Nathaniel kicked Moira’s double away again, examining its armor to see if Moira told the truth. Sure enough, he saw the opening that he needed, but… _I can do this,_ he told himself, parrying another blow. When the next attack came, Nathaniel lunged forward, using his momentum to shove his dagger into the small weak spot, his wrist twisting as he brought the blade past the ribs and into the double’s vital organs. It gave a final rattling gasp, its eyes wide in pain, before slumping lifeless against his shoulder. He closed his eyes and stepped backwards, letting the body fall to the mine floor with a thud. He looked at his hands and had to swallow the bile that rose in his throat at the blood that covered his skin. It was only then that he felt the sharp, stinging pain at his bicep and the trickle of blood running down his arm. Clutching the injury, he knelt next to the body and numbly began unbuckling clasps to the armor. _Moira would hate to have her armor bloodied,_ he thought, glancing up at her. Oghren and Velanna had finished off the rest of the darkspawn; Velanna had come to his side and was silently assessing his injury, her lips moving as she soundlessly recited a healing spell.

“Aren’t you going to help her?” Nathaniel asked, looking at Oghren.

“Does it look like she needs any help?” Oghren replied, taking over the removal of Moira’s belongings from the double’s body. Nathaniel flexed his newly healed arm and watched the fight Moira was still engaged in.

Moira did a little backwards hop as she dodged a wide, sweeping slice from the blade Nathaniel’s double held. It sneered at her and lunged again and Moira prayed that the double hadn’t figured out Nathaniel’s shadow skills, because if it did, she was going to be in trouble. She winced when the tip of the knife tagged yet failed to pierce her borrowed set of armor, her defense faltering when she had realized the double was moving in a series of attacks Nathaniel had often used on her when they had fought together for sport all those years ago. _Concentrate, Moira,_ she told herself, lunging into a riposte that the double easily blocked. _You need to end this quickly._ She lashed out with a crippling blow, which made the double drop its guard. That gave her plenty of time to dart behind its back for a finishing attack. With her free hand, she grabbed a handful of hair – it was the wrong texture; she remembered Nathaniel’s hair had once slid through her fingers like silk, not stiff like straw – and yanked hard, exposing the double’s throat. _Focus on the feel of steel cutting flesh,_ Zevran had instructed her. _Is it not marvelous?_ Just then she looked up and caught Nathaniel’s eyes. In that moment, the feel of hot blood spilling over her fingers and the gurgling death rattle in what sounded far too much like Nathaniel’s voice felt anything but marvelous. She let out a horrified cry and stumbled back from the body, throwing the bloodied dagger as far away from her as she could. The room spun and for one terrible moment she thought she was back in Denerim standing over Rendon Howe’s body. _Do you think my son will ever love you now?_ Her legs gave out on her and she fell to her knees beside the corpse, nausea bubbling in her throat as she stared at dead eyes that looked almost-but-not-quite like Nathaniel’s. Her hands shook as she reached out to close them and she jumped when a larger pair covered her fingers.

“I...” she started, looking into Nathaniel’s eyes. She could feel her lip begin to tremble and she quickly looked away. “I see you took my advice,” she said, regaining her composure. “I’m going to have to ask Wade to fix that once we get back to the Keep.”

Nathaniel saw the way that Moira fought to keep her voice even, grateful that she felt just as unsettled as he did. In that moment it didn’t matter that he disliked her. It didn’t matter that she had killed his father and taken his entire family down with him. What mattered right at that second was the fact that she had hated killing his lookalike just as much as he had hated killing hers. If she had reacted any other way, he might not have had the overwhelming urge to gather her in his arms, reassuring them both that they still lived.

He didn’t though, but he did reach out to rub at a smear of blood that had marred her chin. She inhaled sharply through her nose, but didn’t recoil from his touch. “We need to get moving,” he said quietly, looking her in the eye.

She nodded, slowly standing up and walking towards the heap of armor that Oghren had left her. Quickly shedding the clothing she had woken up in, she buckled herself into her dragonskin armor - ignoring the tacky feel of blood against her side that Oghren hadn't wiped away - and returned her swords to their sheaths strapped to her back. She gave her double a closer look. The facial features were almost identical to hers, but there was something not quite spot on. Oghren had stripped the body down to its smallclothes and Moira could see that where her skin was littered with scars both large and small, her double’s was perfectly smooth. _This was not me,_ she thought, standing up as she fumbled with the last of her armor’s buckles. Nathaniel had also finished arming himself, his eyes looking critically over the bow Moira had ruined. One of his hands held the now useless weapon while the other held tightly onto whatever pendant he normally wore.

“We can’t do that again,” she said carefully, coming up to him, noting that he quickly shoved his necklace down underneath his armor. “We can’t afford to hesitate.”

“You’re right,” he told her, his tone rough. He tossed the broken bow to the side and picked up the dagger still clutched in his double's hand. Moira put a hand on his arm and held out one of her swords.

“I don’t need two of these right now,” she said, as a way of apologizing for destroying his weapon.

He took it, not saying anything for a while. “My kidneys.”

“Pardon?”

“There is a weak spot in my armor directly above my kidneys.” He glanced sideways at her as he slipped the baldric in place and adjusted the buckle to accommodate the broader width of his chest. “It’s only fair that you know my weakness since I now know yours.”

She gave him the smallest of smiles, the knot that had been forming at her shoulders loosening. “Thank you,” she whispered, reaching up. For a moment, Nathaniel thought that she was going to cup his cheek with her hand, just like she used to, but she merely swiped her thumb against the neck of his armor, wiping away the last trace of blood his double had left on it.

Moira let her hand linger longer than necessary against his chest before collecting herself and stepping away. “We need to go that way,” she said, pointing towards the left. There was a distinct odor of sulfur wafting that way that Moira recognized from the time she had gone into the mountains to look for the Urn of Sacred Ashes. If there was ever a place that the dragon tamer who had stolen Keenan’s wedding ring would be, the left hand tunnel would be it. She began walking that way, Oghren and Velanna falling into step behind her.

Nathaniel gave his double’s corpse one last look before he followed, the borrowed sword feeling heavier than it should against his back.


	9. Chapter 9

Moira stared up at the ceiling, moonlight casting shadows across the darkened bedroom. She was exhausted, the type of bone-weary tiredness that left you shaking and heavy-limbed, but she found that her mind was racing far too fast to let her sleep. There was so much to organize, so much to put on mental to-do lists, so much…

There was too much to think about, like the compassionate way that Nathaniel had looked at her in the silverite mine when she tried to keep herself together while his double’s blood grew tacky on her hands. She had been busy trying not to get herself killed at the time, but she had caught the horrified look on his face as his knife had slipped between her double’s ribs and its body had fallen to the floor with a muted thud. After that fight, he had been as distant as ever towards her, but it seemed as if the sharpness to his words had been considerably dulled.

_Could it be that he still cares,_ she thought, rubbing at both of her eyes with the heels of her palms. _With the way that he’s been acting, he should have_ enjoyed _killing something that looked so much like me. Do I dare hope that he feels something,_ anything _for me aside from disgust and anger?_ With a loud sigh, Moira threw the sheets off of her and made her way towards the bedroom door. As an afterthought, she picked up her pack and brought it with her. Perhaps organizing her gear would give her brain something to think upon rather than have it run in tireless circles so she could finally rest.

The darkened hallways were still unfamiliar to her, the stone cold on her bare feet. She made her way to the formal receiving room she was using as a temporary office, opening the door and stepping inside. She didn’t bother with starting a fire in the hearth, but she did light a few candles to chase away some of the shadows. Forcing herself to sit with her back firmly pressed to the arm of the chaise – she remembered as a child how politely perching on the edge of the lounge with perfect posture had made her back ache whenever she and her mother would visit with the Arlessa – she tucked her feet underneath her and reached inside her satchel. Her fingers blindly found the sharp edges of the drake scales and she pulled both out, examining them in the candlelight. One was a dark, rusty red while the other was the deepest blue. Moira turned them towards the light, entranced by the way the candle flame brought out other iridescent colors on each. She let herself become so distracted by them that she didn’t hear the door open.

“Collecting dragon scales must be a hobby of yours.”

Moira jumped, dropping the scales into her lap. “Nathaniel,” she said, clearing her throat and sitting up straighter, belatedly realizing she hadn’t thought to pull on a robe and that the nightgown she wore was short. Old, ingrained in manners had her blushing at her bared arms and legs. Her blush intensified as she felt his eyes go over the jagged scars littering her body, his gaze lingering at the most prominent ones at her right shoulder. “I hadn’t heard you come in.”

“It seems as if I’ve begun to share your habit of not being able to sleep after a fight,” he said, coming closer and standing beside the high backed chair next to the chaise. She watched as he fidgeted, his thumb running over the gold band on his index finger. After a brief internal debate, he decided to sit. Like her, habit had him perching at the very edge of his mother’s old chair before he forced himself to sit deeper amongst the cushions. “Is that common for Grey Wardens?”

Moira shrugged. “I don’t know. Alistair always slept soundly on the road, and he normally volunteered to do first watch. Oghren doesn’t seem to have that problem; I passed by his room on the way over here and heard him snoring away.” She picked up one of the scales again and looked at it. “As for me…” she drifted off. During the Blight, she had times after fights where she was too wound up to sleep, but for the most part, she could fall asleep with only little difficulty. It was the _staying_ asleep part that she always struggled with, nightmares bringing her up into wakefulness with gasping breath and tears in her eyes.

She hated lying to Alistair when he asked her about the nightmares. He assumed that the dreams that left her shaky and frightened had to do with darkspawn. She never confided in him that the majority of her nightmares had been of her father’s blood dripping through her fingers and her sister-in-law’s battered body, a look of horror frozen on her face.

“I should leave,” Nathaniel said in a rush. He pressed his hands flat against the tops of his thighs before curling his hands into fists and stood up. “I’m sorry for disturbing you.” Truthfully, he was still shaken by the events in the mines. The feeling of being unwillingly tested on still made his skin crawl even now, but what had truly rattled him was his fight with Moira’s double. He had tried to sleep, but every time he closed his eyes, he saw it snarling back at him, hate etched on its features. When he did fall into a fitful slumber, he dreamt of the weight of the double in his arms, its blood pouring over his hands. Instead of letting the body fall to the mine floor like he had, he dreamt of it wrapping its arms around him, its lips at his ear.

_“Are you happy now?”_ it had asked him, its voice sounding exactly like Moira’s. Shocked, his dream self had looked at the body in his arms, and instead of the monstrosity he had killed, it had been Moira there, her skin pale and blood dripping from her eyes like tears. _“Will this make up for everything?”_

He had bolted awake in a cold sweat, stumbling away from tangled sheets and flattened pillows. He barely thought to pick up a shirt off the floor in his haste to get as far away from his bed as possible, slipping it over his head as he made it out into the hallway. He’d meant to wander the upper parapets, hoping that the cool night air would clear his mind, but he’d passed by the closed door to his mother’s sitting room and saw the faintest of lights flickering underneath. Curiosity had him investigating, and he found Moira sitting with her back to him, her hair mussed and dragon scales in her hands. Candlelight had illuminated her bare right shoulder, the ragged scar from some animal or another marking it like a particularly vicious lover catching his eye. Part of him didn’t want to give a damn about it, but the other part wanted to ask her how she had gotten it, if it still pained her, if she had other similar scars on her body, and why no one had protected her from getting them in the first place.

He sighed. He guessed that no matter how much he tried to shove it aside, the past had a way of reminding him of what they once had.

“No, please,” she said, reaching out to stop him. Her hand hovered in the air, caught between touching him and withdrawing back to the safety of her lap. In the end, she compromised and settled her hand on the arm of his chair. “I…I could use the company.”

He sat back in his chair, gesturing to the scale she held. “Those go for a sizeable price in the market,” he commented. “I’m surprised that you didn’t sell them when we got back.”

She shook her head. “They’re not for sale,” she said. “Actually, they’re not even for me.”

“Who are they for, then?” She had handed Wade a sizeable amount of dragon scales they had harvested off the two drakes they had fought for armoring purposes, so keeping only two for herself seemed strange, especially if she wasn’t going to sell them for coin. The woman that Moira had become was different than the one he had left behind: the younger version of her had been prone to flights of fancy and daydreams, while this sterner, older version was all about practicality and taking only what could be useful in either trade negotiations or for future favors from interested parties.

Moira’s lips turned up in a sad smile. “They’re for my nephew, Oren. You remember me writing to you about him, don’t you?” She turned the scales in the light again, her expression softening at the mention of the boy. “He was the sweetest child I ever knew; persistent too. He would often follow Rory around and pester him for shield bashing lessons when Rory wasn’t working on guard duty. He didn’t want anything to do with learning rogue skills; he said that he wanted to be a warrior just like his father.”

Nathaniel noted how she spoke of Oren in the past tense. It made sense, seeing how he had heard that the entire Cousland line had all but been destroyed that night. “I remember you called him Fergus’ duplicate. You said he would shadow him wherever he went.”

She laughed. “Yes, he did. His mother often said that it was a marvel that she wasn’t raising a little terror between mine and Fergus’ influence. He wanted to have his very own sword so badly; begging Fergus when he left for Ostagar to bring him back one.” She could see Oren now, running through the castle with his imaginary sword and shield, leaving make-believe enemies slain in his wake. “He took strongly after Fergus. I’m certain that had he lived, he would have been as insufferable as my brother had been when it came to girls.”

“You speak very fondly of him.”

Moira put a hand to her chest, her fingers curling over the necklace bearing her parents’ wedding rings she was never seen without. “I loved him as if he had been my own child.” She remembered how it had felt that first time she had held him, how she had cried tears of happiness and instantly fallen in love with the red and wrinkled baby wailing in her arms. She recalled the days spent keeping him out of trouble as he learned to crawl, then to walk and run, how he had been drawn towards his grandmother’s roses just like Fergus had been. She thought back to all the times they played in the woods under the shelter of trees that she had grown up in, his imagination leading them both on so many adventures and to all the nights that he had fallen asleep as she read him _just_ _one more story, Auntie, please_ story, even after she had read him five additional tales already. Moira had often bent down to smooth his hair away from his face and kiss his forehead, giving him a silent promise that she would do everything within her power to make him happy and keep him safe.

Moira’s heart fell. She had failed her sweet Oren. She had failed them all. Grief had a way of sneaking up on her when she least expected it to, digging its talons into her throat and bringing tears to her eyes. “The last conversation we had,” she said, her voice thick as the scales she held up began to blur in front of her, “was about dragons. Oren was so worried that the castle would come under attack while Fergus and Father were gone, that dragons would burn our home to the ground.” She swallowed hard, her eyes boring holes into the scales. If she looked up at Nathaniel now, she didn’t know what she would say. “I promised him that I’d slay any dragons I came across and bring scales to him.”

Nathaniel was silent, watching the way Moira withdrew into herself, her hands going up to hug her elbows. He didn’t know what to say to break the uneasy silence that had fallen between them, but Moira did it for him.

She sniffed and rapidly blinked away tears. “I haven’t done a good job keeping up my end of the bargain; the only scale I’ve brought him belonged to the High Dragon guarding the mountaintop path leading to Andraste’s ashes. I thought it would be too dangerous to bring one belonging to the Archdemon to Highever, and Flemeth only transformed herself into a dragon, so technically she doesn’t count.”

Nathaniel leaned forward. “You killed the Witch of the Wilds?”

Moira nodded. “It’s a long story.”

“One of many, I don’t doubt.” He glanced at her, noting that she was finally looking his way again. “I never dreamed that the girl I left behind would have such tales to tell.”

She tilted her head. “We both know that I’m not that same girl,” she said softly, slipping the scales back into her satchel. “There are times that I miss her.”

He wanted to tell her that he missed that same girl as well, but kept his thoughts to himself. “I think she may still be around,” he said instead. “I saw her when you spoke of your nephew.”

Moira stretched her legs out and swung them over the side of the chaise. “Thank you,” she told him quietly. She stood up and grabbed the straps of her bag, but stopped when Nathaniel stood and wrapped his fingers around her wrist.

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry that you had to suffer so much loss.” Somehow, he knew that the barrier of hurt feelings and resentment that he hid himself behind would eventually fall, that the icy layer he put around his heart would thaw. He didn’t know if it was because of the mines, or the nightmares he had of them, or because of the way that Moira stoically tried not to shed the tears that made her eyes shimmer in the candlelight, but he knew that he couldn’t hold up the harsh way that he had been treating her any longer. He let go of her wrist and waited for her to make the next move.

“Thank you,” she said again. The air in the sitting room suddenly seemed too confining, the small room becoming even tinier. Talking about Oren had brought back some pleasant memories of the boy, but it had also brought back several that she would rather keep buried. She looked up at Nathaniel’s face and her heart pounded against her chest. She would have been able to keep her emotions hidden had he looked at her with the slight disdain that she was currently growing accustomed to seeing from him, but he was staring down at her in sympathy, his eyes soft and reminding her of how he had used to look at her right before he would kiss her so long ago. She sat back down on the chaise and stared up at him. “I can’t do this, Nathaniel,” she confessed.

“Can’t do what?” He had a feeling that he already knew what she was going to say, but he needed to hear her say it out loud.

“I can’t continue with the way we’re going, where we can barely stand to be in the same room with one another. I can’t force myself to hate you; I don’t _want_ to hate you. I _loved_ you, Nathaniel, and It _hurts_ to know that everything we once had is now gone.” She clenched her fists in her lap and bit her lip. _Well, you didn’t even last a month,_ she thought sarcastically. _So much for the strong front you were supposed to put up against him._

He sat down heavily onto his recently vacated chair. “I…”

She held up a hand. “I know better than to ask the same of you. We’ve said harsh things to the other since we’ve met again and I know you think that what I’ve done to your family is inexcusable, especially when it comes to your father.” She sat up straighter, fighting the urge to argue that he _refused_ to listen to her side, to reiterate that he still didn’t know the entire story of his father’s involvement. “I _won’t_ apologize for my actions, which I’m certain is another thing that you hate about me.”

“You killed my father and took over my home. My family name is in tatters; how _else_ do you expect me to feel?” Nathaniel’s tone was quiet and matter of fact, but it still felt like a knife twisting in her chest.

She leaned forward. “Do you honestly think that I _wanted_ this position? I don’t mind being Warden-Commander, but I fought Alistair as hard as I could to move our post to somewhere else besides Amaranthine. I didn’t want to become Arlessa, not…” she looked down, her shoulders slumping. “Not like this. Never like this.”

“What do you want me to do? Do you want me to leave?”

She shook her head. “No. This is still your home. I could never ask you to leave. Isn’t there any way that we could manage to co-exist without this distance we’ve set up between us?” She looked up at him with such openness that he could clearly see how much this conversation was costing her, how very badly she wanted things to change. Had he not decided to put away his resentment just then, it would have been easy to say a few words that would have cut through her, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

“You know that I’ve never been good with words,” he said slowly, slipping the chain he wore over his head, his fist closing over the ring suspended there. “But I hope that this…” he paused, his thumb running over the band one last time before he handed the necklace over to her. “I want you to have it.”

Moira stared dumbly at the ring sitting in the middle of his palm. “This was my mother’s,” she whispered, reaching out and taking it with shaking fingers. “We spent days searching the castle when she said that she lost it. Father commissioned a new one when they renewed their wedding vows. Why…” The metal was still warm from Nathaniel’s skin and she held it close to her heart.

“Why should I have it?” he asked, leaning his elbows onto his knees. “Your mother never lost it; she gave it to me two months before I left for the Free Marches.” He gave her a sad smile. “I went to your parents to ask for their permission for your hand. She told me how that ring had been passed down and how pleased she would be to have you wear it.”

“But…” It was difficult to breathe. “They never said a word. All those years and they never once told me that they knew about us.”

“I asked them not to. I wanted to be the one to tell you once I got back.” He stared at the way she carefully held the ring, the chain it was on falling through her fingers. “I didn’t want to keep it here while I was away, and I didn’t trust having it in my pocket for fear of losing it, so I wore it every day not only to keep it safe, but as a reminder of what waited for me back home.” His throat felt naked now without it and he hoped that what he had meant to say had translated well. “You should have it. It’s always been yours.”

Nathaniel watched as Moira turned the ring over in her palm, her finger tracing the delicate engraving on the inside of the band. Nathaniel had often done the same, the two words written there giving him comfort whenever he had missed Moira. _Love endures,_ he thought, watching as she mouthed the same words. _If only that were true._

“You went to them?” The words were so quiet that Nathaniel thought he had imagined them.

“Your parents meant the world to me. I wanted their approval so badly.”

She stared up at him, finally losing her battle not to cry, tears silently slipping down her cheeks. “You meant the world to them as well and they loved you very much,” she said, lips trembling. “It’s heartbreaking that you should think the worst of those that you held in such high esteem.”

Her words had been said in a tone thick with sorrow and broken by quiet hiccups of breath, but they cut into him deeper than any knife would have. Not knowing what else to say, he stood and left the room, softly closing the door behind him.

Moira wiped at her face with the back of her hand. “You _knew_ ,” she whispered, sniffling. It made sense now; the way they had both carefully steered any potential suitors away, how they had never pushed anyone onto her, how they had never actively nagged her about marriage. The last conversation she had with her father on the very night they had been attacked bubbled up to the surface and she pressed shaking fingers to her lips now that all the little hints and clues that she should have been aware of for years finally clicked into place.

_Besides being a friend of yours, do you think that you’d ever have romantic feelings for Nathaniel?_

_How can you be certain that Nathaniel will share the same sentiment?_

_How can he not? You’re a beautiful, smart, capable woman. Any man would be lucky to have you._

_I think that it would be very easy for me to love Nathaniel._

_Then it would please you for me to speak with Rendon?_

_Yes. It would please me greatly._

“Oh, _Papa_ ,” Moira said, a loud sob escaping her. The sound triggered another, then another and soon Moira found herself crying in a way that she had never allowed herself to do, not when she had fled to Ostagar with Duncan, not when she had been on the road during the Blight, not even when she had been helping her brother sift through the ruins of their family home, being the rock that he needed as he dealt with his own mourning. She cried until her throat went raw and she felt sick, months of grief pouring out of her all at once. She cried for her family, for Rory, for all those who had been lost.

She wept for herself too, for the girl who had dreamt of marrying the love of her life and living happily ever after. Her heart ached for that girl, as well as the boy who she had loved and how things between them would never be the same again. Exhausted, Moira curled into a tight ball on the chaise and fell into a fitful slumber, her mother’s ring clutched tightly in her fingers.

Nathaniel leaned heavily against the other side of the closed door and let out a ragged breath, his palms flat on the doorframe and body tense as a bowstring. He was torn between flinging the door open and gathering Moira into his arms to offer her any comfort he could give and walking away to give her privacy. It hadn’t taken Nathaniel long to see what a strong person Moira was and how she was someone who others clearly looked to for guidance and as a rock to lean on. He’d also seen something brittle in her eyes that reminded him of how even the strongest piece of steel could weaken and break if exposed long enough to harsh conditions. It seemed that handing her back the ring had been that breaking point. Knowing how Moira had often put the needs of others before her own in the past, he could only guess that she had pushed aside her own personal issues in favor of dealing with the aftermath of the Blight and she was finally allowing herself to mourn those she had lost.

In the end Nathaniel hadn’t been able to decide what to do, so he stood there with his head bent and listened to her cry until he couldn’t hear her any longer, feeling about as low as he possibly could for thinking that Moira hadn’t gone through the same type of loss or felt the same feelings as he had.

“I can’t do this either,” he whispered, stepping away from the door and moving down the hallway. He didn’t know how they could live under one roof together after everything that had happened between them, but for her, he was determined to try.


	10. Chapter 10

The doors to the Great Hall swung open. “The Commander returns!”

Varel looked up from the missives that needed Moira’s immediate attention once she came back from her daily patrol. That’s when he noticed the messenger’s expression. The woman’s face was pale and her eyes worried. Something was not right. Movement from the back of the room caught his eye. Nathaniel had taken to leaning against the wall housing his mother’s portrait. He seemed to come to the same conclusion as Varel did, because his head snapped up and he stood at attention, his expression troubled.

“Where is she?” Varel asked, moving from the fire pit in the middle of the room towards the messenger.

“She’s in the infirmary,” the woman replied. “She and Ser Oghren were expanding their patrol when they came under attack. They don’t look well…”

Varel noticed the way that Nathaniel had pushed himself off the wall, hands clenched into fists. He was already striding towards the door before Varel could even move his own feet.

Varel was greeted at the infirmary door by the harsh sounds of cursing. Some of it he easily recognized as Oghren’s, but he had to do a double take when he heard Moira’s hissing profanities lace the air. “And this is what you get for not taking someone that can take out archers at a distance,” he heard Anders say.

Her answer was clipped, her voice tight sounding. “If you’re going to stand there and lecture me, could you at least look after Oghren while you do it?” Varel finally worked his way through the infirmary doors, winding his way around a few curious bystanders. What he saw made his breath catch in his throat. Oghren was a mess; his face painted in bright red and his armor streaked with black darkspawn blood. Gore matted his beard in places and the remains of his arm guard hung from his elbow like a broken wing.

Moira was no better. It looked as if someone had splashed her with a bucket full of black paint. Besides the various cuts and scrapes on her arms where her lightweight armor didn’t protect her, she was steadily dripping blood from a deep gash on her cheek. For some reason, she was laying on her side on top of a worktable, the cloak she wore bunched oddly around her legs.

“He’s fine,” Anders said, giving the dwarf a brief glance. “We’ll just give him enough alcohol so he doesn’t feel a thing. I’d much rather deal with your injuries first.” Anders’ back was to Varel, blocking his view, but whatever the mage did made Moira’s eyes squeeze shut and her breath to wheeze out in a pained gasp.

“Don’t _wiggle_ it, blast you!” she snarled, her teeth bared.

Varel pushed his way into the room, finding himself next to Nathaniel. The younger man was silent as he looked down at Moira’s injury, but his face was pale. Varel looked over Anders’ shoulder and let out a curse. “Maker’s mercy,” he breathed. There was an arrow protruding from Moira’s thigh several inches above the knee the likes that he had never seen before. The shaft had been broken, more than likely to keep it from bouncing around too painfully while she and Oghren made their way back to the Keep, but what was remaining was almost the thickness of three or four normal sized arrows put together.

Moira looked up at him and even though he could see that her face was tense from pain, she still managed to smirk. “It’s nothing, Varel,” she said. “This is just a scratch compared to some of the stuff I’ve gone through.”

“At least no soddin’ ogre stepped on you again.” Oghren supplied, grunting when one of the infirmary helpers applied an herbal poultice to his head. “Turned your leg into jelly, if I remember right.”

She grunted. “That was a complete…” she sucked in a breath when Anders tried to see how to best take the arrow out. " _Bitch_ to heal from. _Maker’s fucking balls_ , Anders, _really?_ ”

From his cot, Oghren let out a rusty chuckle. “Oooh, good one, Sparkle Fingers. Haven’t heard her cuss like that since that one time with the giant spiders.”

Moira rolled her eyes and rested her forehead on one of her arms. “Can you at least heal my face? The throbbing is starting to get annoying.” Using her free hand, she pressed her fingers against the gash on her cheek to keep a flap of skin closed.

“No can do. I can’t risk any magic healing your leg as well. I don’t think you’d be too fond of having an arrow permanently stuck there.” He left her side and grabbed a few ingredients. “Here, make a paste, slap it on, and stop complaining so I can get to work.”

“Your bedside manners are somewhat lacking,” Nathaniel commented dryly, speaking for the first time. Moira’s eyes grew wide as they darted up in his direction and Varel noticed that her face went even paler than it had been, making him believe that she hadn’t been aware of Nathaniel’s presence before then.

“I tailor them to each patient,” Anders replied curtly. “I’ve found that the Commander needs to keep her hands busy to block out whatever I’m doing. These pants are a total loss, aren’t they?” he asked Moira, who nodded.   Varel noticed that Anders fished out a dagger from Moira’s boot without asking and used it to slice through the side seam of her pants, baring her leg from knee to hip.

“A little high for what you’re working with?” she asked, arching her eyebrow.

Anders grinned. “I’ll be a bit busy,” he said, waggling his eyebrows back at her. “But I’ll be sure to ogle more while I bandage you up.”

She snorted before pressing her finished salve to her cheek. “Just get it over with already.”

Anders inspected the arrow to see where to get a good grip. “This went all the way through to the other side. I take it that you broke off the arrow point as well?”

“It’s in my pocket. It was poisoned; already took an antidote.”

He stroked his chin. “Cleansing aura after the main healing then, just to be sure,” he muttered to himself. “I’m going to count to three, okay?”

Moira closed her eyes and held onto the edge of the table until her knuckles turned white. “Have you done this before?”

“Nope, so this should be interesting. And one, two –” Instead of continuing, Anders yanked hard on the arrow, bringing it out in one go.

“ _You said three!_ ” she shrieked, her face gone grey. Varel thought that she was on the verge of passing out from the pain, but she stayed conscious.

“And you would have tensed if I had, which would have done far more damage,” Anders explained, his hands covering the entry and exit wounds, bright blue light emanating from his skin. “You’ve got some major muscle damage going on as it is. You’re going to be sore tomorrow, but you’ll be able to put your weight on this leg without any trouble.”

“Are you going to be able to completely heal it?”

He snorted. “Come on, this is _me_ we’re talking about. Of _course_ I can.” He moved his fingers from the wound and Varel saw that even though her skin was an angry red color underneath all the blood, it was whole. “That’s a nasty sprain I’m sensing on your other ankle; how far did you walk back with this?”

“Five miles, maybe a few more.” Moira sat up on the table and pushed her hair out of her face. “Don’t give me that look; what was I supposed to do, lie there while I send Oghren back here with a cracked skull?”

“I’ve had worse, Warden,” Oghren huffed. He attempted to sit up, but sank back down with a grunt. “Why’s the room spinnin’?”

Moira gestured over to Oghren’s cot. “Anders, if you would?”

Without looking up from Moira’s leg, Anders stretched his hand out and flexed his fingers. Oghren groaned once, then lay still. “That should keep him out for a while,” Anders said, peeling off Moira’s left boot. He drew in a sharp breath at the sight of her swollen ankle. “You’re lucky you didn’t break anything. We’re going to hop you over to another cot and you’re going to get some rest if you want to completely heal.”

Moira shook her head. “Just get me to where I can hobble on some crutches. I have papers that need to be looked through and letters to answer. I feel a lot better now, thanks.”

Even though her color had gone from a sickly grey to a pale white, Varel was still concerned. “Commander, I don’t think that is wise. Shouldn’t you rest?”

“I’ll be resting; I’ll have this foot propped up while I work.” She wrinkled her nose and looked at her armor. “But first, I’ll get this gear off and have a long soak.”

Anders shrugged. “Of course, Commander,” he said. “But before you get off that table, I need to do one more spell on you.” He looked up at Varel. “If you would be so kind as to catch her when she falls backwards, Seneschal.”

Moira blinked. “What? Oh no you…” she didn’t have time to finish her sentence; Anders wove his hands in front of her face and her eyes closed. Varel darted behind her in time to catch her shoulders before she slipped back, her body seemingly boneless.

“She should be out even longer than Oghren,” Anders said, pulling off her other boot and setting it aside. “She’s going to be angry with me, but casting a sleep glyph on her is the only way to get her to actually sit still in one place long enough to do any good.”

Varel eased her back on the table, amazed when she barely stirred as he slid his arm out from under her. “I’ve noticed that about her,” he commented, reaching over to unbuckle her right bracer, his fingers catching on the jagged slice the leather had guarded her from. He looked up at Nathaniel, who had remained silent after his initial comment. The younger man’s face was drawn, his expression stormy as he looked down at the bloody arrow in his hands.

“She doesn’t go out on patrol without someone that can attack at a distance,” he quietly said, throwing the arrow aside in disgust and clenching his hands into fists.

“I highly doubt she’ll agree to that,” Anders said, smirking. His grin faltered when he saw the angry look on Nathaniel’s face.

“I don’t care; you _make_ her take you or Velanna when she goes out, is that clear?”

“Is that an order?”

Nathaniel’s lip curled back and his voice was little more than a growl. “Yes.”

Varel stood back and watched how the two interacted. Moira and Nathaniel had been understandably awkward around the other since the Commander had found him in the Keep’s holding cell and there were times when the tension between them had been close to breaking. Now, he watched as Nathaniel carefully slid one arm underneath her shoulders and the other behind her knees. “There’s a private alcove over there,” he murmured, pointing to the other end of the infirmary.

Nathaniel nodded. “I remember.” He tensed when Moira moved in his arms, her head turning so her face was buried against Nathaniel’s shoulder. She mumbled something intelligible in her sleep and Nathaniel hiked her up in his arms. Varel couldn’t help but notice the way that he pressed the side of his face against her hair for the briefest moment, his eyes closing tightly. Varel didn't comment as he picked up her discarded pieces of armor and boots before following.

“If she asks who did this,” Nathaniel said, deftly unbuckling the last of her armor and setting it neatly aside. “Tell her it was you. She trusts you.” The unspoken _not me_ lingered between the two men.

“I will.” He watched as Nathaniel sat on the edge of the bed in the infirmary’s private quarters, his fingers running in soothing circles across her wrist.

“The last time I sat over her liked this was when we were children,” Nathaniel started, staring down at her. “She fell from a tree and broke her leg.” The tiniest ghost of a smile appeared around the corner of his mouth. “She didn’t want to sit still then either; her governess had to slip sedatives into her tea or else they wouldn’t have been able to set her bones properly.”

“She seems to be stubborn when it comes to her own injuries.”

“She is.” They were silent, both of them watching as she slept. Varel was unsure as to how long he should stand there; it felt as if he were intruding on an intimate moment between the two of them. He dipped his head and took a step backwards.

“Varel?”

“Yes?” He had to stop himself from adding _my lord_ at the end of his inquiry. Old habits did tend to die hard.

“Has she spoken about me?”

He thought his choices over. In all honestly, the one time that they had brought up Nathaniel had been that first night. “Your name has been brought up once, but she doesn’t normally confide her…feelings to me.” That was the truth; Moira might go to him for his opinion on how to run the arling and ask about his well-being, but she seldom chose him to act as a sounding board for personal issues. By the many different drafts of letters he’d happened to find her asleep on her desk over, King Alistair was her designated confidante.

It was odd that none of those letters actually made it to the post; he’d also walked in on her feeding those same pieces of paper to her fireplace.

“I don’t know why she doesn’t despise me,” Nathaniel mused.

“Would you, if your situations had been reversed?” He didn’t wait for Nathaniel’s response; he gave a short bow out of habit and backed out of the alcove, leaving the two of them alone.

“The Commander is made of stern stuff,” he commented to Anders, who was cleaning up the workstation she had been on.

“That she is. I still can’t see how she made it back here hopping on a sprained ankle with an arrow the size of a lightweight pike sticking out of her other leg, all while trying to keep someone suffering from severe blood loss and intracranial swelling conscious and on their own two feet.”

“I thought you said that his injuries weren’t that severe.”

“I dealt with the most urgent injuries before you arrived. All Oghren needs now is rest.” He curled his lip. “And a bath. Preferably several.”

“Will you inform me when the Commander wakes?” He looked back at the alcove. He couldn’t see much from this angle, just the tips of her toes from where they appeared in the doorway.

“You’ll be one of the first people to know.”

Varel turned towards the door. With one last look at the alcove, he shook his head. “Stern stuff indeed.”

* * *

 

Nathaniel stared down at Moira’s face. She was still too pale for his liking, but at least she had regained some healthy color. “You just scared several years off my life,” he whispered. Without thinking, he reached out and brushed a lock of hair out of her face. He froze when she sighed in her sleep, her face turning towards his hand. He lingered there, the tips of his fingers brushing against her cheek. Anders’ magic had worked well; where there had been a horrific slash across her cheekbone – and his stomach had rolled at the way that the skin had flapped open, nearly exposing white bone underneath – there was only a faint red line that would eventually fade.  He briefly closed his eyes, thinking back on all the times long ago that he had been able to touch her, how soft her skin had been under his hands and how she would beam up at him with her eyes shining with affection.

“Why don’t you hate me?” he asked, his voice hoarse. “I’ve given you every reason to and yet…” His eyes went to her throat where a glimmer of gold caught his eye. He used his finger to lift the chain she wore about her neck, exposing an oval shaped pendant that bore a raised Chantry symbol on its surface. Just as he expected, Moira had threaded her parents’ wedding rings along with the pendant. He carefully ran his fingers over the band that he had worn for years in a similar fashion, the metal warmed by her skin, knowing that had things been different that it would have been on Moira’s hand by now.

 _Would you despise her, if your situations had been reversed?_ Nathaniel shuddered and reached out to hold her hand. Her fingers were small in comparison to his, the calluses and tiny nicks looking out of place on her otherwise delicate skin, dirt and blood caked underneath her nails. _She killed my father with this hand,_ he thought, trying to bring up some of the old rage and resentment that had so often accompanied that thought. Yet try as he might, he couldn’t.

“I could never hate you,” he told her, bringing her hand up to his lips. He thought back to her words only a few days ago. _Isn’t there some way that we can live together peacefully? I loved you and it hurts to know that everything we once had is gone._ He stood up from the cot and stared down at her. She looked different as she slept. The tight way that she normally held her body and the pinched look around her eyes was gone and she appeared to be years younger without the constant worry and tension that she so often carried. He hesitated for a moment before bending and brushing a kiss against her cheek, his lips grazing the corner of her mouth.

“I want to try to make this better, for both our sakes,” he told her, backing away and towards the entryway. “I miss you.”


	11. Chapter 11

“You do realize that I haven’t known you for very long.”

Moira made a vague humming noise in agreement, her back to Anders as she stared into the depths of her wardrobe, hands on her hips. “I’m aware of that. What was your point?”

“My point,” Anders said, barely moving from where he had draped himself across her bed, “is that you’ve let a man who’s practically a stranger into your bedroom and you haven’t batted an eyelash.”

“And all you’ve done is sprawled atop my bed. You’re going to have to do something worse if you’re looking to disturb whatever maidenly sensibilities you think I have or create a scandal,” she told him blandly, turning around with an armload of fabric. “Besides, if you want to get technical, I let Ser Pounce-a-Lot into my bedroom. You merely followed.” She smirked at him, carefully arranging the outfits she had picked out onto the area of coverlet Anders wasn’t occupying.

“Well, Pounce is quite the charming kitty, isn’t he?” From beneath Moira’s bed, the aforementioned kitten gave an affirmative meow. “What _are_ you doing anyway? I thought we were supposed to meet with all the stuffy nobles this evening, have them vow oaths of fealty to you or something.”

Moira sighed. “Yes, but apparently can’t meet them fully armed and decked out in armor. It would send out the wrong image.”

“Ah. Someone clued you in that looking the part of the gorgeous yet dangerous and deadly Arlessa wouldn’t win you any popularity points?”

“Varel did, yes. He seems to think that my first impression to the people under my care should be of a woman who is approachable and refined, firm yet fair. It might make dealing with them in the future a bit easier. I agree with him,” she said, tapping her finger against her chin. “I just wish I knew what _approachable_ meant here.”

“You might want to stay away from the red dress,” Anders told her, sliding off the mattress to stand beside her. “People usually associate red with fire and blood, might come across as too aggressive. The pale blue one you picked out looks far too passive and honestly, it washes your color out.” He walked over to her wardrobe and pulled out a frock in creams and violets. “This one is nice.”

Moira shook her head. “It’s also an import. Varel told me how much the people had distrusted anyone from Orlais. Imagine what they would think of me if I wore that.”

“Then why do you own it? You lived in the palace; wouldn’t the sentiment be stronger there?”

“No, it wasn’t. And to answer your question, my friend made me buy it.” Moira smiled at the memory of the shopping day she and Leliana had before the bard had returned to the Chantry. The two of them had cooed over shoes for hours and Leliana had all but begged Moira to purchase the dress. “She said it would bring out my eyes,” Moira told him. “But if it complimented anyone, it would have looked far better on her.” She smiled again, thinking that Leliana had probably meant to “borrow” the outfit from Moira, but never got the chance to before she left.

Anders dug further until he was all but crawling inside the deepest recesses of the wardrobe. “Ah ha! I think I might have found something fitting.” He pulled out a silk gown that Moira had forgotten she even owned. “Approachable and quite pretty,” he said, holding it up against himself. “What do you think? Is it my color?”

She laughed and took it from him. “Strangely enough, I think it might be.”

“It’s a shame that I won’t be required to dress up for the evening. Fortunately, I think you’d look fantastic in it.” He moved over to her dressing stand and unceremoniously flipped the top to her jewelry case open. “And I think I found something that would suit you here as well.”

Moira put her hand on the top of the case and gently closed the lid. “Those aren’t mine,” she said, shaking her head. “They belonged to…” _Nathaniel’s mother,_ she thought. “The former Arlessa,” she said instead.

“But _you_ are the _new_ Arlessa. They belong to you now and it would help remind these nobles just who you are.”

Moira stared at the ornately carved box. “I’ll think about it,” she said. “Now shoo. I have to change.”

“Are you sure that I have to leave? I mean, I’ve been so helpful and everything.”

“I’m certain. Out.” She was grinning as she pushed him towards the door. Ser Pounce-a-Lot seemed to take the hint that he was included in the eviction and was already waiting in the hallway, his paw lazily swiping over his ears.

“But there’s a great many buttons on that dress. And didn’t I see laces in the back that need tightening?” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, even as he was being ushered out. “You might need me to watch…er, _supervise_ , just to make certain you don’t mess anything up!”

Moira laughed, shoving the door closed in the mage’s face. “I mean it!” Leaning against the heavy door, she shook her head. Honestly, the reason she didn’t mind Anders hanging around was that he reminded her of Alistair. She rolled her eyes, pulling the tunic she was wearing over her head. _A slightly naughty version of Alistair, perhaps,_ she mused, stepping into the bath that had been drawn for her. _But he does make being away from home a lot easier._

She had to pause at that, frowning as she swiped at her arms with a washcloth. She didn’t know when she had stopped referring to Highever as home, but being away from Denerim, even for as short of an amount of time as she had, was already making her homesick. Hearing sarcastic banter from someone that almost, but not quite, looked like her friend made the transition a little smoother. Quickly bathing, Moira slipped into her undergarments and stood beside her bed. She looked down at the gown she planned on wearing, finally remembering where she had gotten it. Fashion amongst the nobility was starting to lean towards simplicity instead of garishly ornate garb, probably thanks to Alistair’s extremely vocal distaste for overly complicated outfits. The trend hadn’t quite caught on, seeing that it was still a new idea, but Moira had been presented with the dress from the Royal Seamstress to wear at a banquet. She had missed the event, seeing that there had been a darkspawn sighting that same night that she had gone to investigate, so the gown had gone forgotten in the back of her wardrobe.

It was incredibly stunning, she had to admit. The overdress was a dark forest green with a swooping neckline that was lined with flowering vines embroidered in gold thread. There was a wide stripe of amber colored silk at the hem that held a pattern of embroidered griffons, also in gold. The sleeves to the dress were long and designed to cling to the upper arm before falling loosely at the elbow. More golden vines climbed along the edges of the sleeves and when worn, you could see that the inside lining of the sleeve was the same amber colored material as the hemline. There was another dress that was meant to be worn underneath; Anders hadn’t found it, but with minimal searching, Moira found the lighter olive green underdress and slipped it over her head. The long, tightly fitting sleeves buttoned at the wrist and hid several scars along her arms, but the low neckline was bound to show at least the beginnings of the jagged wolf bite that marred her skin. _It can’t be helped,_ she thought, careful not to wrinkle the overdress as she pulled it over her head. _There are just some things that these people will simply have to accept about me. One does not take on darkspawn and other creatures without getting scuffed up in the process._

Slipping her feet into a pair of slippers, Moira stood before the full-length mirror at the corner of her bedroom. The dress fit close to her body, hugging the curve of her waist before slightly flaring out at the hip. She stared at her reflection for a while. Except for her uncombed hair and bare face, Moira finally felt like a lady again. While she didn’t begrudge the fact that her lifestyle meant she was in armor or men’s style clothing most of the time, the one thing she thought she’d never miss was getting to dress up and act like a woman of her station every once and a while. She had to laugh at that: she had fought her mother tooth and nail at being put into dresses as a girl, and even up until her very early twenties she still managed to wear pants more often than dresses, much to her mother’s displeasure. Sitting at her makeup stand, she applied the barest hint of color at her eyes and cheeks and a more subtle red stain for her lips than she was accustomed to using. She could have gone a bit more dramatic, but she thought back to Varel’s suggestion that she be seen as soft and approachable for this first meeting with her Banns.

A memory bubbled up to the surface as she stared into the mirror: she and Nathaniel’s sister Delilah were sitting together at the same dressing table, giggling together while they prepared for the party Delilah’s parents had given to introduce their daughter into society. Moira had always thought that Delilah had been the prettier or the two of them, but she took even greater pains to make herself blend into the background so her younger friend could shine. The two girls had similar coloring, but where Moira’s dark hair was sun-streaked with lighter brown and red, Delilah’s was a soft, solid black that served as the perfect backdrop to the ruby-tipped gold comb her mother had allowed her to wear for the evening.

Moira’s eyes went to the large jewelry case in front of her. Carefully lifting the lid, she looked at the contents inside. Many of the pieces were fashioned out of rubies and diamonds – and Moira ran her fingers over the same comb she had been thinking about - but there was a golden tiara nestled by itself in one of the deeper compartments housed underneath the drawers full of necklaces and matching earrings that caught her eye. It was plain looking compared to the rest of the collection, adorned with a scattering of pearls and citrine pieces fashioned to look like flowers. Every so often an emerald leaf curled out of a cluster of flowers, and Moira felt herself drawn to it. She took the piece out of the box and eyed it cautiously, wondering what Arlessa Regina would have thought about her wearing her things. She lifted the piece of jewelry and inspected it in the light. She remembered the former Arlessa as someone who had been polite yet distant, refined yet cold, lacking the warmth that her own mother had. Regina had also highly disliked Moira, even if she had never said it in words. Moira had always been too rambunctious, too much of a hellion for her tastes. Moira was certain that if one were to take away the political advantages a marriage to a Cousland would bring, Regina would have been dead set against welcoming Moira into her family, thinking that she wasn’t good enough for either of her sons, especially Nathaniel.

Speaking of, Moira wondered what Nathaniel would think of her wearing something of his mother’s. Would he think that she was lording over the fact that she owned everything his family once had? Would he think that she was shoving her new title into his face?

“Or would he even notice?” she wondered out loud, setting the circlet down on the dressing table. She picked up her comb and ran it through her hair. She started to braid her hair around her head like she normally did, but stopped. While her hair was still shorter than she would have liked it to be – she had taken the opportunity to trim off the last of the burnt ends of her once long hair – but it had grown over the months to a length that let her pin it up into a low gathered twist secured at the base of her neck. The look left her face bare, which felt strange to her since she’d fallen into the habit of hiding behind her hair or a hood lest anyone recognize her as the Hero of Ferelden.

Setting the tiara in place, she pulled her shoulders back and held her head high. “You are the Arlessa of Amaranthine,” she said, mentally forcing herself to stop worrying about everything that was waiting for her downstairs, especially when it came to Nathaniel. Taking a breath, she dabbed on a bit of perfume as a way to bolster her courage before standing up from her dressing table. “You can do this.”

* * *

 

Nathaniel stood in his customary corner, his arms crossed in front of him. They hadn’t begun to assemble yet, but he had watched Amaranthine’s nobility gather for the better part of the afternoon from his vantage point atop the battlements. He’d kept to the shadows, not wanting to be seen or be made part of whatever gossip that was sure to spread.

“You could have at least worn something nicer,” Anders told him, brushing off a bit of cat hair from his sleeve.

“Is there a specific reason why?” he replied, arching his eyebrow.

“Well, for one, we’re going to be shown off as the newest Wardens.”

Nathaniel shook his head. “You and the dwarf, perhaps, but I intend on remaining unseen.” He could just hear the gossips now: the prodigal son, returned from the Free Marches, only to be conscripted into the Grey Wardens. How fitting, now that his entire family were labeled traitors to the crown. There were _several_ Banns he was certain would take great delight in his family’s downfall, seeing as they had never truly cared for his father favoring one over the other.

Anders frowned. “Well, Mister Grumpy, you can at least tell our Commander that she looks nice when she comes down. She’s not looking forward to this any more than you are.”

Nathaniel was going to say something else, but Anders’ low appreciative whistle stopped him. Turning so he could see the door, his mouth went dry at the sight of Moira standing there. _She looks more than nice,_ he thought, _I’ve never seen anyone as beautiful in my life._ Nathaniel had seen Moira in a variety of dresses over the years, but for the life of him, he had trouble remembering her looking this elegant. Before, he had only given the outfit she wore a cursory glance since he had known just how uncomfortable she had been with the extra attention, but now, he couldn’t help but stare. The dark hunter green of her dress made her skin gleam like porcelain and the gold accents brought out the brown in her hazel eyes.

It was a bittersweet moment: he didn’t know if she purposely meant to do it or not, but the green and gold were almost the exact match to the Howe family colors. While Anders might not approve of his clothing choices, he’d chosen to wear a darker version of that scheme to better blend in with the shadows and give a subtle reminder to anyone should he be seen that the Vigil’s Keep was still his home. Even with everything going on, he couldn’t stop the smile that came to his face at the sight of Moira, nor could he stop the thought that despite their stilted conversations and awkward silences, they still made a handsome pair when they stood together.

Moira had meant to head directly towards the main dais where Varel stood to get this meeting over and done with as soon as possible, but the whistle to her right stopped her in her tracks. She had expected Anders’ grin and nod of approval at her outfit, but she truly hadn’t expected Nathaniel’s expression. In all honesty, she hadn’t even expect to see him there in the first place, thinking that he would have wanted to avoid the Banns and the snide remarks that were sure to follow. She knew from overheard conversations between her father and his that not all the Banns had been fond of Rendon Howe. If anything, Moira had wanted to shield Nathaniel from any unnecessary comments that may be thrown his way.

Yet not only was she surprised by his presence in the Great Hall, she had been stunned by his reaction to seeing her.  Since meeting him again, she’d seen him sneer and frown and twist his lips into a sarcastic sort of smirk, but she had never seen him smile, especially not a smile that reached his eyes and made his entire face light up. As she made her way towards the two of them, she also couldn’t help but notice how the darker colors of his outfit complimented hers. To her, it felt as if for that moment time had reversed and they were ten years younger, standing together as they always had been when attending similar parties.

Moira stared at his smile. Without having seen anything like it in so long, she hadn’t realized just how much she had missed it, nor had she remembered the way that butterflies had always fluttered in her stomach at the sight.

He must have caught her staring, because his smile faltered. It had been some time since they had come back from the mines and he had returned her mother’s wedding ring to her. They’d both made some strides in civility, getting to the point where they could actually hold a conversation without inadvertently upsetting the other, but it was worlds away from the familiarity that they once had.

She missed his smile immediately. “Hello,” she said, coming up to both him and Anders.

“Good evening,” Nathaniel replied. He grunted when Anders elbowed his side. “You look…nice.” The neckline of her dress showed the rounded tops of her shoulders, but instead of drawing his attention to the deep scar there, all the details in the embroidery seemed to draw his eye away from it and focus more on the rest of her dress.

She quickly looked away, her eyelashes fanning across her cheeks, which she had felt heat at his compliment. “Thank you,” she murmured quietly. When she looked back up at him, Nathaniel could have sworn there was some of the old friendliness back in her eyes. He tried to think of something to say, but words failed him.

“I see you found something in the jewelry case,” Anders supplied, tilting his head appreciatively.

Moira’s hand went up to the side of her head and she looked at Nathaniel. “I…”

“I remember that piece,” he said, stepping up to get a closer look at the tiara. “Mother rarely wore it; she said it made her look washed out.”

“I think it’s nice,” Moira told him.

Nathaniel shrugged. “Mother always liked to deck herself out with rubies.” He couldn’t do anything but stare as his fingers, seemingly of their own accord, reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind Moira’s ear. “You wear it far better than she ever did.”

Anders watched the two of them stare at the other before clearing his throat. “And when the mage starts feeling like he’s the third wheel, it’s his cue to leave. I’ll just be over there, minding my own business.”

Nathaniel fidgeted before putting his hand in his pocket and bringing something out. “I’ve been meaning to give you this,” he said, holding out a large signet ring. “Varel said that the King had sent it back to Amaranthine for safekeeping until you were available to take up your duties here. I asked him if I could present it to you. You should make your title official.”

Moira shook her head. “I can’t take that from you.” The last time she had seen it, the ring had been sitting in a pool of cooling blood, the former owner’s hand still twitching. Her stomach curled at the thought of even being anywhere near something that Rendon Howe had once worn.

“I insist.” He reached down and took a hold of her right hand. “It’s a bit big, but I’m certain you can get it resized.” He slid the ring onto her index finger, and as expected, it shifted around until the weighty portion bearing his family’s crest slid to the underside of her finger. “And I’m sure that you’ll want to replace the crest with your own, or perhaps something signifying the Wardens.” He had been tempted to try on the signet ring himself, if only to say that he had at least one opportunity to do so, but he had refrained. Becoming Arl of Amaranthine wasn’t part of his life any longer; the ring belonged to those in power.

It was odd; he thought that he would feel bitter about it, but he didn’t. He had slowly accepted that being a Warden was his new lot in life and that realization coupled with the conversation he had with Moira had acted as a lance to a painful wound, anger slowly leaching out of it like poison.

Moira took the ring off and pressed it back into his palm. “I _can’t_ take this from you,” she repeated, folding his fingers over the ring. She looked at him, suddenly realizing that they were so close to the other that the hem of her gown covered the tips of his boots. “With tonight and…” she fought the urge to rest her head against his chest. “I’ve taken so much from you already. Please, let me give something back.”

“Moira…” His hands itched to touch her, to cover her exposed shoulders and see if her skin felt just as soft as he remembered it being. “You’ve taken nothing that hadn’t already been lost.” He gestured towards her jewelry again. “And as I said before, you wear it well.”

She swallowed hard, trying to get her emotions in some sort of order at the way he said her name. One of these days, she and Nathaniel were going to have to have a long talk to sort everything out, but that night wasn’t going to be that time. “Let’s just get through this all in one piece,” she told him, walking towards the dais. “I don’t even know what to expect.” He put her off balance once again when he offered her his elbow. Heart in her throat, she twined her arm through his, looking up at him when he put his free hand over hers out of habit. Again, it felt as if time had decided to move backwards: Nathaniel had always escorted her in such a manner. It was something that she had never expected him to do, and if his surprised inhalation of breath was any indication, it was something that he himself hadn’t meant to do either.

Yet as surprised as they both were, neither of them moved their hands away.

“You’re going to do fine,” he assured her, stepping away once they were standing by the large chair at the very front of the room.   “As for what to expect, I suspect that some of the younger nobles will be just like their parents. They’re going to bow and scrape to put on a good show, but they’ll be testing to see just how far they can get with their new ruler. Be wary of Bann Esmerelle. She’ll try to charm you into doing things for the city while forgoing every other part of the land, which is what she had attempted to do with my father. She has a subtle manner about her, but I think that she’s a snake in the grass.”

“Thank you. I appreciate the information.”

Nathaniel looked down at her and gave her a small, lopsided smile. “And I wasn’t saying it just to appease Anders earlier; you do look stunning.” With that, he stepped into the shadows behind the chair, instantly melting into the darkness. She tried to focus on him, but it was clear that he had already moved somewhere else.

“He’s right,” Varel said, standing beside her. “You look lovely.”

“Is this approachable enough?” she asked, steeling herself as Varel motioned for the large doors to open.

“Quite. And excellent color choice, I might say. The nobles will think of the previous Arl, which makes your transition a bit easier.”

Moira blinked. “I hadn’t thought of it,” she said. _No wonder Nathaniel seemed friendlier._ She stared at the sleeve of her dress, thinking that perhaps around this same time, she might have worn the same colors under other circumstances. She glanced down at her left hand. She had left her mother’s rings safely stored away in her quarters for the evening in favor of a delicate gold necklace. She couldn’t help but think that had things been different, she would be wearing one of them by now.

_There’s no use lingering over what might have been,_ she told herself. _Just focus on the present._ “Any last minute pieces of advice?” she asked instead.

“Try not to show too much favor to any one noble,” he said. “Though I’m sure you already know that from your time in court. Any time you want me to clear the room, just give me the signal,” Varel muttered next to her.

“Is now too soon?” she asked, schooling her face into a practiced smile as the nobles began to filter in. If she were to look at herself, she knew that she was presenting the image of the perfect hostess, just as her mother had taught her to be. _I hope I can make you proud,_ she thought. _If I only have a tenth of the grace that Mother possessed, I would be lucky indeed._

Varel chuckled, but disguised it as a cough. “Just a bit. Word of warning: you might have to put up with some minor disputes. I’m certain that everyone won’t be capable of playing nice once they’re all gathered together in the same room.”

“Thank you.” _Maker, give me a room full of darkspawn with only a butter knife to defend myself with over this,_ she thought. Smiling warmly, she let her voice ring out through the hall. “Greetings. Welcome to Vigil’s Keep.”

* * *

 

“Someone’s going to have to keep an eye on her,” Anders said, leaning against the wall. “That Ser Tamra is getting awful chatty.”

“You noticed that as well?” Nathaniel said, leaning against the column opposite of Anders. “There’s something that doesn’t seem right.”

“Well, it’s a good thing that you’re on board. For a moment there, I thought you’d be off sulking in the corner for the remainder of the evening.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “I do not sulk.”

“Brood, then.”

“I do not brood, either.”

Anders rolled his eyes. “Fine, believe what you want to. What I’m mostly getting at is that I’m glad you aren’t looking at our Commander as if you wish to kill her any longer.” He leaned forward. “You _don’t_ want to kill her any longer, right?”

Nathaniel scoffed. “I never truly wanted to.”

“Good. I haven’t known her for long, but she’s quickly become a friend. I’d sure hate to zap you with a well-placed bolt of lightning otherwise. Care to share what changed your heart?”

Nathaniel looked over his shoulder, watching as Moira ended her conversation with Ser Tamra and began one with Lord Eddelbrek. For all her reluctance, she seemed to be in her element, transitioning from one topic to the next with ease without falling for the stumbling blocks that several of the nobles had laid out for her. From his hiding places scattered throughout the room, Nathaniel had overheard many other conversations. The general consensus was that the nobles approved of their new Arlessa. Actually, all the conversations he had managed to overhear had been positive. What did worry him though were the conversations that he had heard pertaining to his father. There had been whispers all around the room at how his father had let Amaranthine go in a downwards slide during the last years of his rule. Could this be true? _No, it couldn’t be true,_ he thought. _Father always stressed the importance of the Arling, how Amaranthine was the crown jewel of the Teyrnir. He taught me to respect the land and its people; how could so many say different things about him?_

He shook his head. “No, I do not,” he told Anders. Honestly, he couldn’t answer that question, even to himself. He felt conflicted; on one hand, he believed that he should still resent Moira, that his father’s honor demanded it. On the other hand, his feelings and memories of her said to give her a chance, that spending time with her and listening to the things she said and the things that she _didn’t_ say meant that perhaps he _didn’t_ have the entire story. “Keep your eyes and ears peeled,” he said instead, intending on moving unnoticed to another corner of the room.

“Consider myself on watch, Captain Broody. And before you say it, _yes_ you _do_ …” Anders turned his head and frowned, finding himself talking to thin air. “Brood, and quite spectacularly, I have to say,” he finished, accepting another goblet of wine from a passing server. He sipped at the drink as he watched the rest of the guests over the rim of his cup. He was still as alert as ever for any trouble, but it didn’t mean that he wasn’t going to have fun while he did his surveillance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For reference, Moira's dress was heavily inspired by John William Waterhouse's [Ophelia](http://www.johnwilliamwaterhouse.com/pictures/ophelia-1910/), and the tiara was loosely based on a simpler version of [this one](http://rhetoricalrogue.tumblr.com/post/141435521131/tiarascrowns-a-kokoshnik-shaped-tiara-with).


	12. Chapter 12

They hadn’t yet gotten out of the Great Hall when Moira stopped and took something out of her pack. “I’ve been meaning to give these to you.”

Nathaniel looked down at the bundle of papers Moira held in her hands. “What are they?”

“I found these while cleaning out a few rooms,” she explained. “With everything going on, I forgot about them, but I finally had a chance to look closer at them today. They’re letters from your sister.”

“Delilah? What did they say?” He took them from her, already eagerly tugging on the faded ribbon that held the stack of envelopes together.

“I don’t know.” Their mothers had thought it would be a good idea for Moira and Delilah to be pen-acquaintances. Practicing their penmanship and cultivating letter writing social skills had been the main goal, but Moira had truly treasured the friendship that had developed over the years. Delilah may have been a few years younger than Moira, but Moira had always felt she was the sister that she never had. “As soon as I recognized the handwriting, I stopped reading. I thought that you might want to have them.”

“Thank you,” Nathaniel said. Moira saw him visibly force himself to tuck the letters away in his bag. “I shall read them thoroughly once we get back from today’s errands.”

“I certainly hope we can find Kristoff. Varel suggested looking in any inns.”

Nathaniel rubbed his chin with his hand. “I’d start at the Crown and Lion. It’s always been one of the more popular inns in Amaranthine. If they’re still standing, there are one or two others, but they’re tiny and out of the way; not something that someone unfamiliar with the area would initially pick.” He couldn’t stop the fond smile that came when he thought of the last time he and Moira had been in the Crown and Lion together. They had been nineteen and seventeen, respectively, and both of them had the pleasure of trying to sneak a very drunk Fergus back into a carriage to get him back to the keep before either of their parents grew aware that they had gone missing.

Moira seemed to recall the same memory, because a similar smile graced her lips. Her eyes darted to him and she quickly looked away, a faint blush dusting her cheeks.

“You taking anyone else with you?” Oghren asked, looking up from the whetstone he was sharpening his axe with as he leaned against the large cask of ale nearby.

Anders put up his hand. “I’ve been meaning to head into town. I could use a new staff. The one I’m using doesn’t quite deliver the right _fwoosh_ of fire that I’m looking for.” Ser Pounce-a-Lot mewed from his perch on Anders’ shoulder, upset that his nap had been interrupted.

Moira laughed. “I don’t think this investigation warrants more than two people,” she said. “We’ll make a point to look at weapon shops for you, but think of this as a day off.”

“I can live with that,” Oghren said, testing the edge of his axe with his thumb.

“It would give us a chance to get better acquainted,” Anders reasoned, sidling up to Velanna.

She arched her eyebrow at him. “Come any closer and you’ll regret it.” There was a crackle of electricity around her and the throne room was filled with the scent of ozone, like the air before a storm.

Anders backed up a step, his hands out in front of him, even as he winked at Velanna. “Pretty _and_ deadly. I don’t know if I should be cautious or intrigued.”

Moira grinned and shook her head. “Just stay out of trouble. We’ll be back before nightfall tomorrow, dawn the third day at the latest.”

“Just watch your back, Warden,” Oghren cautioned, holding an arm out and keeping her back while Nathaniel went outside. He stared pointedly at the space in the corner Nathaniel normally frequented. “The two of you might not be at the others’ throats lately, but…”

She nodded. “Thank you,” she said, touched that he’d think about her. “It means a lot to know that I have a friend looking out for me.”

He snorted and waved his hand dismissively. “Pssh, don’t get all soft on me, Commander. I ain’t like the old Pike Twirler, talking about _feelings_ all the time.”

Moira had to laugh as she followed in Nathaniel’s footsteps towards the exit. “No, you most definitely are not. Thank the Maker for small favors.”

She would have gone directly to the stables to see to her horse, but she made a quick pit stop to speak with Voldrik, informing him about a sizeable granite deposit they had found in the Wending Wood on a return trip through the area. She hadn’t been able to complete all the tasks that she had set out to do the first time through the woods, but luckily the bolts of fabric she had hidden along the path were still there. She had returned those to the Merchants Guild representatives and made several good trade deals in return. She’d also gotten the statue rubbings she had promised to get, Velanna and Anders only grumbling a little at being made to go out of their way to get the last of them.

She was rounding the corner to the stables when she saw Nathaniel in the middle of what looked to be a serious discussion with Samuel, the groundskeeper. She’d had a conversation with him a few days ago on seeing about repurposing several of the former Arlessa’s ornamental gardens into beds full of healing herbs. He’d been quite knowledgeable about what would grow where and what to plant near others and the two of them had spent a pleasant afternoon together planning things out.

She used looking over her saddlebags as an excuse not to pry as the two men heartily shook hands. There was a spring in Nathaniel’s step as he neared his horse and his eyes were bright. “Ready to go?” she asked him, swinging into the saddle. 

He led his horse out of the stall and joined her. “Yes.” Nathaniel began to fidget as soon as they left the keep’s main gates. “I…”

“Is everything all right?”

“Everything _is_ all right,” he replied, turning to her. His eyes were still bright and he wore a rare smile that went from one ear to the other. “I just found out that my sister is alive.”

Moira’s smile matched his. In the months after the battle at Denerim, she hadn’t heard a single bit of news about Delilah. She felt a stab of guilt: the reason she hadn’t heard any news was that she hadn’t actively been searching for her childhood friend. “That’s wonderful news! Where is she?”

“She supposedly has a small house by Amaranthine's marketplace.”

_I have a sister in Denerim,_ Moira couldn’t help but think of Alistair and Goldanna. _Do you think that we could visit her? Do you think she’ll like me? Maker, I’m nervous._ She shook herself out of the sudden flashback in time to see Nathaniel looking at her expectantly. “I’m sorry, what did you ask?” she inquired.

“I said, do you think it would be possible to make a side trip and see where she is? I mean, we’re going to be in town already.”

“Yes, absolutely.” The two of them headed past the main gates and started down the path towards the city.   Nathaniel took the lead, breaking his habit of trailing several steps behind to act as a rear guard. Moira didn’t mind; if their roles had been reversed and the first news she would have gotten about Fergus after so long was that he was alive and living only a day’s ride away, she was certain that she would have already been galloping down the road as fast as her horse could carry her. Nathaniel was more restrained, but as it was, Moira had to urge her mount into a canter to keep up with him.

They were halfway to the city when Nathaniel slowed his pace. “Why didn’t you tell me that my brother was dead?”

The abruptness of the question threw Moira for a loop. “I thought that you knew,” she told him, biting her lip. “If I had known that you were unaware, I would have said something.”

“Before we left today I spoke with Samuel, our old groundskeeper. He told me that Thomas died in Denerim.”

“He did.”

He fidgeted with the reins in his hands. “He also said that you gave Thomas’ eulogy.”

“Yes, that’s true. His ashes are interred in your family’s mausoleum, if you ever want to pay your respects.” She looked at him. “Your father’s are there as well.”

Nathaniel’s brow furrowed. “Why?” He turned towards her. “If my father did what you said he did, then why show him such mercy?”

She took a breath. “Because…” Moira closed her eyes, remembering the horrible account that her father’s Captain of the Guard had given her when she had met up with him in Redcliffe. Rendon Howe had made a mockery of her family’s bodies, stringing their remains up like a macabre banner in front of the main gate. In a show of defiance, her father’s guard and several of the townspeople had cut them down under the cover of night to give them proper funeral rites. It was a show of kindness at a great risk of their safety that Moira would be forever grateful for.

“Because,” she started again, working her way past the lump that had formed in her throat. “No matter what he did to us, your father deserved basic decency in death.” Fergus had been against her wishes, wanting to burn Howe’s body and leave the charred skeleton by the roadside for the wolves, but Moira had argued against it. The Couslands were not animals: their father had ruled with justice tempered with kindness and mercy, she wasn’t going let one man’s deeds take that away from them. In the end, she had prevailed and there had been a small service for both men with only Alistair, Varel, Garavel and herself in attendance. Moira had spoken kindly of Thomas, recalling several fond memories she had of him. The others who had known him had done the same, but when it came time to lay Rendon’s ashes to rest, no stories had been shared.

Nathaniel bowed his head. “Do you know how Thomas died? Did you happen to speak to him before?”

She nodded. “He had been in Denerim during the Landsmeet, though we hadn’t had a chance to speak until afterward. He hadn’t been aware of your father’s intentions and put himself at my mercy.”

Nathaniel sat up straighter. “And what did you do?” It was a carefully asked question, but it held a hidden blade of accusation.

Moira sighed, disappointed yet unsurprised that he would think that of her. “I didn’t strike him down on the spot, if that’s what you’re insinuating. Thomas begged me to allow him to join our cause, and I agreed. He was meant to stay behind in Redcliffe, to defend it from any lingering darkspawn that may have broken away from the horde.”

Nathaniel’s brow furrowed. “You tried to keep him safe.”

“Of _course_ I did. He was a friend. I considered him _family_. The last thing that I wanted was to put him in harm’s way.” She looked down. “Unknown to me, he snuck in with the forces heading to Denerim. We were at the palace’s gates when he took an Emissary’s blast. Had he not thrown himself in front of it, it would have hit me instead. We tried to save him, but his injuries were too severe.” She could remember the heat from the burning buildings, the way that sweat had made tracks across Thomas’ soot stained face as he stared up at her.

“Did he say anything?”

She clasped her hands, wanting to say something to comfort Nathaniel. “He spoke of you, in the end. He said that he had made a promise to you, and that he hoped you wouldn’t be angry at him for keeping it.”

Nathaniel looked away. The last time he had seen his little brother, he had asked him to look after Moira for him. “I’m sorry,” he said hoarsely. “I didn’t mean to imply…”

“Yes,” she told him, her voice tired. “Yes, you did. I guess I should be used to that by now.” She sat straighter in the saddle and urged her horse forward, wanting nothing more than to get to Amaranthine before nightfall. She should have been used to how she felt every time Nathaniel said something to her about what happened to his family, but every word still hurt and she was just so… _tired_. During the Blight, the words in his last letter to her had kept her going when she felt like giving up, and now she didn’t even have those. Having Oghren at her back was a blessing, and she was slowly building friendships with her fellow Wardens and with the staff at the Keep, but to have Nathaniel believe lies and be unwilling to hear her side of the story was like constantly picking at a wound that had never gotten a chance to scab over.

She started when he put his hand at her elbow. “I _am_ sorry,” he said, his tone sincere. “And I wanted to thank you for saying something about Thomas. For considering him family and for calling him a good man.”

“I knew Thomas since he was born. He _was_ a good man.” She looked him in the eye. “He had a good role model.”

Nathaniel frowned. “And who would that be?” He tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice, but failed.

She gave him a sad smile. “You. Thomas spoke often over the years of the letters he received from you. He tried to live his life in a way that would make you proud.” She saw that some of the pain in his eyes had disappeared. She didn’t have anything else left to say, so she continued on the road towards town. Nathaniel stared at her back there in the middle of the road for a little while before urging her horse to join her.

* * *

They had left their horses at the Crown and Lion’s stable, Moira slipping a few extra silvers in the stable boy’s pockets for tending to them before they checked into a room. It was still light out this early in the evening, and the both of them agreed that it would be best to look for Nathaniel’s sister while they still had some daylight.

They didn’t have to search long. They were winding through the half-crowded marketplace when Nathaniel froze.   “That’s her,” he said quietly when they reached the very end of the district. He gestured at the woman who had her back to them, her hands busy as she and another man packed up what was left in their stall at the end of the day. “We passed that shop at least three times the last time we had been in town; how did I miss her?”

“Perhaps she’s been away and has only just come back,” Moira suggested. She noted the modest sized home the man was entering. “Or maybe she was inside at the time. There aren’t any windows facing this side of the street.” Granted, the last time they had been in the marketplace, she, Nathaniel, Anders and Oghren had been busy fighting off smugglers. Any sane person would have stayed out of the fray as long as possible.

“She looks so thin.” Nathaniel twisted the gold ring on his left index finger in a rare display of nerves. Moira had seen him with it, but it only now clicked that it was the same one that Delilah had given her brother for his name day. “Will she even recognize me, after so long?”

Moira watched as his hands shook and put a hand on his shoulder as a show of support. “Why don’t you find out?”

His eyebrow quirked. “You aren’t coming along?”

She shook her head. “No.” He was going to ask her something, but she interrupted him. “This is something personal for the two of you. I don’t want to get in the middle of your reunion.” Since this was the first she had heard of her childhood friend, Moira had no idea what Delilah thought of her, and she wasn’t keen to having two Howes joining forces in blaming her for their family’s misfortune, should Delilah’s feelings echo those of her brother. “Please, take your time. I’ll be waiting in the Crown and Lion.” She turned to leave, but stopped when she felt a tug on her hand.

“Thank you,” he told her.   “I mean it. Just being able to see her again, to know that she’s alive, it means so much to me.”

She gave his fingers a brief squeeze before stepping away. “Good luck then.” It was easy to blend effortlessly into the dwindling crowd. She watched from a distance as he walked away, his hands slicking his hair back away from his face. She continued to watch as he called out to his sister, who turned and recognized him instantly. She watched, eyes misting over, as Delilah threw herself into Nathaniel’s arms and kissed his cheeks, laughing as Nathaniel spun them around. It was only when she saw Delilah pull Nathaniel into the house near her stall that she left, letting them have their privacy.

Since it was still relatively early, Moira decided to spend the time alone in Amaranthine wandering the streets. Luckily no one save the city guards knew her on sight. She took advantage of the fact that while everyone knew that the Hero of Ferelden was the Arlessa of Amaranthine, not very many people actually knew what she looked like. Taking her time, Moira wandered the streets, trying her best to familiarize herself with where everything was. The layout of the city was sprawling, but not so much different from Highever, which gave her a pang of homesickness as she passed by a shop dedicated to selling soaps and sundries. While the marketplace Delilah’s home was by focused mainly on portable stalls where vendors from out of town or those who couldn’t afford storefront properties, the more permanent marketplace was situated closer to the residential side of town. Dressmaker shops were next to the shoe shops, vendors selling protective gear were flanked by weapon stands. There were bakeries, eateries, and other small shops along the way. The Chantry took up a large portion of the eastern side and it seemed as if there were tons of tall buildings acting as housing for the city’s population. It wasn’t as bustling as she remembered it being several years ago, but she figured that had to do with the effects of the Blight.

She even found the two hole-in-the wall taverns Nathaniel had mentioned. They were tiny, dark, and seedy, but with the weapons at her side and her hood pulled close up, Moira fit right in. Both places offered her an insight on Amaranthine’s troubling criminal element – one tavern was almost completely frequented by mercenaries muttering about the recently busted smuggling ring and the other housed a few people making noises about forming a gang. Moira made a mental note to speak with Garavel about both issues and work on increasing the guardsmen on patrol.

Stealth allowed her to eavesdrop on several conversations both inside the taverns and out on the streets, giving her an entry point to step in and ask questions about Kristoff’s whereabouts. The good news was that a Warden _had_ been spotted in town and there was a general consensus that he had been seen entering the Crown and Lion on multiple occasions. Course set, Moira made her way into the main inn to do some more investigating.

The Crown and Lion felt very much like it had when she had been seventeen: a fire crackled in the large hearth to the left, the tables were full of patrons, and the main floor had a homey, safe feel to it. There was a young man sitting on a stool close to the fireplace, his hands tuning the lute he had balanced on his lap, his tongue sticking out in concentration as he plucked out a few experimental strings. The open kitchen was a din of productive noise; orders of stew and roast lamb were shouted amid the clatter of plates being washed in an unseen sink and a knife industriously chopping away at vegetables.

Making her way to the bar, she leaned against one of the empty spaces. The barkeep looked up from wiping the surface with a stained cloth. “What can I get you, Stranger?”

Moira pulled back the hood of her cloak. “Information, for one. Food and room for the night for another.”

The barkeep leaned his elbow on the counter. “Room and food are easy. The information part might be a little trickier, depending on what you’re after.”

“There was a Grey Warden seen here recently who goes by the name of Kristoff. Is he still here?”

The barkeep’s eyebrows rose. “Ah, well, that’s an easy answer. Kristoff _was_ here, aye, but he hasn’t shown his face for nearly a week. What you want with him?”

“The new Warden Commander asked me to look into his disappearance. All my leads end here. I was hoping that you’d be able to help me out.”

The man nodded. “Quiet man, that Kristoff. Polite, always had a smile for my girls and a kind word for the stable boys. Can’t say what direction he rode off to when he left last, but his room’s paid up for the month.” He picked up a tankard and began to polish it. Turning around, he skimmed his fingers over a row of keys until he came up with the right one. “Room on the left. No one’s been in there since he left, mind. All his things are right where he left ‘em.”

“Thank you.”

“Now, how about that food? What can I get you?”

Moira smiled. “I’ll come back down to eat after I look through his room. Something in the kitchen smells amazing.” As if on cue, her stomach rumbled. She hadn’t eaten much since the morning meal, tension traveling alone with Nathaniel after their conversation had her insides in too many knots to have much of an appetite as they rode towards town.

The barkeep laughed. “We’ll see about fixing that whenever you’re ready.”

Moira climbed the stairs leading to the rooms available to rent and found Kristoff’s easily enough. The room was tidy, all of his unnecessary gear neatly placed away. It did indeed look like no one had been there in some time. Three chests were sitting in plain sight, and with only a sliver of guilt about prying, Moira pulled out her well-used set of lock picks from the pouch hanging from her belt. Sifting through each of the chest’s contents only provided a handful of the Warden’s mementos and a letter from a woman named Aura. Moira’s grasp on Orlesian wasn’t as good as her Antivan, but judging by what she could decipher, Aura was Kristoff’s wife. The chest with the letter had also contained a palm-sized journal bound in leather with many of the pages filled in a neat, legible hand. Moira tucked the journal into a pocket and replaced the other items, securing the chests as she went.

“Where were you going?” she wondered out loud, walking around the room. There was a map of Ferelden tacked to the wall near the fireplace, the same neat handwriting noted along the sides. She’d take some time later to decipher and ponder over what the notes said once they returned to the Keep, but what got her attention were the places Kristoff had marked out on the map and one place he had drawn a bold circle. “I bet this is where you were headed next,” she surmised, tapping her finger over the area known as the Blackmarsh. Carefully pulling the map down, she rolled it up and set it aside to take with her when they left.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” the barkeep asked when Moira came back down.

“I think I did. You said that his room was paid until the end of the month? Do you mind if I stayed there for the night?” The leaded windows at the front of the inn were made of amber glass, but Moira could see that night had already fallen while she had been busy upstairs.

“Seeing as you’ve been sent by the new Arlessa, aye. It’ll be just you?”

Moira looked back at the door. She had no idea how long she had been wandering the streets before coming into the inn, but Nathaniel hadn’t shown himself yet. “There is one other Warden with me, but as for now, it’s just me.” Taking a breath, she forced a smile and pulled out enough coin to pay for a drink and a meal. “So, what is it that smelled so delicious?”

“Ah, that’d be the beef stew. Our Maggie makes the finest in all the arling.” He took her coin and shouted out the order for one of the barmaids. “Used to work for the old Arl, she did. Then he kicked her out on her arse one day out of the blue. She’s been working here since.”

Moira tilted her head. “What happened?”

The barkeep sneered. “ _Budget cuts_ ,” he sneered. “That was the only excuse he gave her, the miserable bastard. May he rot in the Void. At least the seneschal, Varel? He was kinder. Sent Maggie off with a sack full of coin from his own pocket and told her to take enough food from the kitchens to feed her family until she could get set up proper here in town.”

“He sounds like a good man.”

“That he is. Many of the lads and lasses that used to work for the old Arl had the same story.” Without asking, the barkeep poured her a tankard of wine. “And what about the _new_ Arlessa? What’s she like?”

“I’ve only spoken briefly with her, but she seems like a good sort, if not a little busy trying to set things to rights.” That was the truth: when not dealing with Warden issues, Moira spent most of her days trying to figure out just what had gone wrong in Amaranthine and how Rendon had been able to hide everything from her father as long as he had. Then again, Bryce Cousland was the type of man to implicitly trust that things were going well when his most trusted of friends told him so. There _were_ good farms and lands to tour, both of which were owned by people who by the looks of the accounting books she and Mistress Woolsey were unearthing, had their pockets lined with hard-earned gold that could have gone elsewhere. It would have been easy to take her father to those farms and he would have believed Rendon if he said that there were many others like it.

The barkeep nodded. “Shame about what happened to her family. The Teyrn was a good man who didn’t deserve his fate. He raised his children up right though; I’ve no doubts that Teyrn Fergus will be just as good of a ruler as his father, long may he rule.”

She lifted up her glass. “To his health.” Moira’s father had taught her long ago that if one really wanted to put their finger on the pulse of the land, all one had to do was ask the common folk what they thought of their respective ruler. Bryce Cousland had been well respected and loved by the people of Highever, not because he had ruled with an iron fist, but because he had taken the time to see that everyone under his care fared well. It gladdened her heart to know that there were people in Amaranthine who had seen through Rendon Howe’s lies and still held her father in high regard.

“And to Arlessa Moira’s. Makes you feel proud, knowing that the Hero of Ferelden is running things. Killed the Archdemon with her bare hands, she did.”

Moira raised her cup again. “Here’s hoping that she’s as good a ruler as her father was.” Her father had taught both she and Fergus how to properly run a teyrnir, and while she may not have wanted to rule Amaranthine because of all the old ghosts the Keep harbored from her past, she was determined to make her father proud.

“May Andraste guide her.” He leaned on his elbows. “I haven’t heard much, but it sounds like she’s starting to get her house in order. There’s talk amongst the maids and some of the lads in town that she’s been hiring people to get that rusty pile of a Keep running properly, like it used to before things went downhill a few years back. Good on her, hire local instead of bringing people in is a step in the right direction to win some favor. Maker knows we need hope around here, after the Blight.”

Moira thanked the barkeep for the wine and made her way towards one of the empty tables in the corner of the tavern. She had only been sitting for a moment when a serving girl placed a bowl of thick and hearty looking stew in front of her. Thanking the girl, Moira tucked in, grateful to have something warm and comforting to eat. While she ate, she pulled out Kristoff’s journal and tried to make sense of what was written. She skimmed over the first few pages, context clues she had managed to translate telling her that Kristoff had been talking about missing his wife and looking forward to starting a new life with her in Amaranthine once everything was settled. He was an eloquent writer, and insightful as well; Kristoff wrote of the things that he had seen wrong in Amaranthine, many of them the same things that she herself had seen. Setting aside the journal, she slouched in her chair and sighed. There was so much _wrong_ that it was going to take forever to make right. At least hearing some talk amongst the citizens of Amaranthine was a positive move, but there was still much that needed to do before she could consider Amaranthine to be on the mend.

_And none of it will be done right this moment,_ she told herself, trying to keep herself from feeling overwhelmed. _The one thing that you can do is eat your meal, look through the journal again, and wait for Nathaniel to show up. Baby steps, Moira._

She was on her second glass of wine while picking her way through Kristoff’s journal when the door to the inn opened. Nathaniel stood in the entryway and it didn’t take him long to pick her out at the back of the room. She really hadn’t expected him to come back that night: she had told him the truth when she said that the meeting between him and his sister should be a private one. While she and Fergus had ultimately not given a damn right then who had seen the both of them crying and laughing while embracing in the Landsmeet chamber after the Blight, in hindsight she would have preferred that she hadn’t had an audience of strangers witnessing their reunion.

“How did it go?” she asked, moving to the side so he could sit down next to her. Like herself, he didn’t like having his back to the door.

“Delilah’s _married_ ,” he said, sounding overwhelmed. “I met her husband. She’s due in the spring.”

Moira couldn’t stop her hand from flying to her mouth in surprise, her heart happy for her friend. “That’s wonderful news! You’re going to be an uncle.”

He shook his head, looking as if he still couldn’t wrap his mind around it all. “It’s a little much to take in all at once,” he admitted, resting his forearms against the scarred wooden table. “We had a great deal to discuss. We still do; it’s late and Delilah invited us to stay the night with her and her husband.”

She sat back. “She wants… _me_ to stay with her?” _Oh, this second glass had been a bad idea,_ she thought, trying to keep her lip from trembling. _I need my wits about me._ “Surely the invitation was just for you.”

Nathaniel shook his head. “No. Delilah would love to see you again, Moira. She misses you dearly.”

“I…” She put a hand to her throat. “I’d like that. But not now, not…” Blinking rapidly, she gestured to the rooms upstairs. “Kristoff’s room is still paid up. I was going to stay there for the night and go over what I found.”

If Nathaniel saw that she was avoiding seeing his sister, he didn’t comment. “What did you find?” he asked instead.

“He was here, but left a week ago. I found a map in his room that points to him heading out into the Blackmarsh.”

Nathaniel frowned. “The Blackmarsh? There’s nothing there but the ruin of an old town amid the bogs.”

“It’s the best lead we have. I also found his journal, but it’s written in Orlesian. I’m having a time trying to translate.”

“May I? I picked up some Orlesian in the Free Marches.” He skimmed through a few of the later pages, his fingers tapping on the words. “Kristoff must have had some farming experience before joining the Order,” he mused. “He has a few ideas that he wanted to bring to you on how to fix most of the Blight-ruined fields. He also has several strong opinions on my father’s management of the farms the Blight hadn’t touched.”

“Ah.”

Nathaniel slid the journal over to her. “You should take them under advisement. He sounds like he knows what he’s talking about.” He stared at her and opened his mouth as if to say something, but quickly closed it. “If that’s all, I would like to get back to my sister.”

“Yes, of course.”

Nathaniel stood from the table and shouldered his pack. “She does miss you, Moira.” Without another word, he left the inn, disappearing into the night.

Moira didn’t linger long afterwards, staying downstairs only long enough to make a few other inquiries with her fellow patrons. Making her way up to her borrowed room, she secured the door and placed a chair underneath the knob. She placed a small metal dish precariously on top of the chair so that if anyone tried to enter her room, the sound would wake her up. Precautions made, she undressed and tucked a dagger underneath the extra pillow before climbing into bed.

Even with the wine and a full stomach, sleep was difficult to come by. She lay on her back and stared at the ceiling for the longest time, her mind a whirl of mental checklists of things to do once she returned to Vigil’s Keep. Her mind kept going towards Nathaniel as well. Underneath the obvious happiness at being reunited with his sister, he had seemed sort of subdued, as if there was something on his mind that he was still trying to process. She thought about Delilah as well: had she genuinely wanted to see her, even after everything that had happened between their families? The Delilah that Moira had grown up with had been a sweet and gentle girl without a mean bone in her entire body. She had never been as close to her father as Moira had been with her own, but Delilah had given Rendon the respect expected from a daughter. Could it be possible that Delilah hadn’t believed the lies her father had spread?

Shifting onto her side, Moira sighed. Did it really matter any longer at this point? What happened had happened and there was nothing that anyone could do to change the outcome of things. Moira’s parents and family were gone, as was Nathaniel’s. Sliding her hand underneath the pillow and wrapping her around the familiar hilt of her dagger, Moira closed her eyes and forced herself to sleep.

That night, nightmares didn’t plague her. Instead, Moira dreamt of two girls, one with sun-kissed brown hair and the other with coal black tresses. Both were laughing as they embraced the other as long-lost sisters, the dark-haired girl pressing kisses against the other’s forehead.

Moira woke up the next morning, dried tears leaving tracks across her cheeks.

* * *

“Are you certain that you’re ready to go?” She asked Nathaniel as they met up in the inn’s stables early the next morning. “We can always return to the Keep later on if it means giving you more time with your sister.”

He shook his head. “No, you told everyone that we’d be back before nightfall.” He swung himself up into the saddle. “I hope you don’t mind, but I invited Delilah to visit once she was feeling better. She says that travelling makes the nausea she has in the mornings worse, but she would like to come home…” Nathaniel broke off.

“I don’t mind,” Moira assured him. “And you’re right; Vigil’s Keep is still her home as much as it is yours.”

They were a mile or so away from town when Nathaniel piped up again. “Did you happen to find any information on this Dark Wolf we’re supposed to get to spy for you?” Nathaniel didn’t like the option that Varel had suggested, thinking that it would be better to have someone less… _shadier_ find information for them about the people supposedly conspiring to kill Moira.

He also found it rather unsettling that Oghren had laughed at the fact that there may be assassins out to kill their Commander, and that Moira had replied with _well, it wouldn’t be the first time._

“Unfortunately, no, I didn’t.” For good measure, Moira had inquired about the Dark Wolf as she had wandered the streets of Amaranthine, and again that night in the tavern. She had gotten nowhere on that end, which was upsetting; she had hoped to get the nasty little detail of an assassination plot cleaned up as quickly as possible, and she wasn’t about to follow through with Varel’s suggestion of keeping her nobles under surveillance to see which ones started acting suspiciously. She had only just asserted her power over the Arling, she wasn’t about to sow seeds of suspicion amongst the nobility and risk losing what respect she may have.

She hadn’t wanted to believe Ser Tamara when she had warned her of a plot during the assembly at the Keep, but she also didn’t want to brush it aside as if it were nothing. Oghren had been the one to laugh about how she usually dealt with assassination attempts, giving Moira an out to look outwardly unbothered, but inside she was already searching shadows and looking at alcoves as an assassin would, trying to figure out which one she would hide behind to complete her task.

During the Blight, Moira had always liked doing her own dirty work. Back then it meant that she was out a few hours or days of time, but it seemed as if Moira would be out time _and_ money for this one.  “We’re going to have to come back later to see if this person is actually here in Amaranthine after all.” All her questions had been met with either ignorance or a few vague _rumor is_ types of answers, all of them saying that this supposed vigilante made Amaranthine his base of operations.

“Perhaps we could show up with Oghren next time,” Nathaniel said. “Despite him being the smelliest person I’ve ever had the pleasure of coming across, he does tend to have an air of intimidation about him. Maybe his presence would get better results.”

Moira laughed. “I think you might be right.”

The remainder of the trip back to the Keep was spent in a slightly tense silence, broken only by brief conversation about the weather or other safe topics. Moira stole glances at Nathaniel’s profile as they rode, noting how his jaw tightened and his hands flexed into fists. For all the positive things it seemed he got out of his meeting with his sister, he was exceptionally deep in thought. Even as they rejoined the rest of their party later that evening and Moira shared what she learned, she couldn’t help but notice how he kept to the corner of the room, saying nothing and looking distracted the entire time. Plans were made to investigate the Blackmarsh soon, Anders and Oghren volunteering.

“Is everything all right?” Moira asked, once everything was settled and everyone else left the Great Hall for the night. “You’ve been awfully quiet ever since we left the city.”

Nathaniel nodded. “Yes.” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as if to stem a headache. “No. May we speak in private?”

“Of course.” She gestured towards the door leading to her study, but he shook his head. Without thinking, he held onto her hand and guided her down one of the side halls. She was beginning to wonder where he was taking her when they stopped at an informal parlor, the large windows overlooking the Amaranthine Ocean out in the distance. Moira’s breath caught as she remembered the two of them sneaking away to this very room from some party or another his parents had hosted once. No one had thought to look for them and they had spent the evening curled up together on the window seat sharing tentative kisses and whispered promises of young love.

“I owe you an apology,” Nathaniel started, the words leaving him in a rush as he looked down and twisted the ring on his finger.

She figured it must have had something to do with something Delilah had told him. “No you don’t. Its fine,” she said, clasping her hands behind her back.

He frowned at her. “Yes, I do. And _no_ , it is _not_ fine. Delilah…she said that Father,” he swallowed hard and tried to collect his thoughts. “She said that Father _deserved_ to die, that everything that had happened to our family was because of his actions. She told me everything; how his political ambition had blinded him, how his need for power had led him to do terrible things to people.” He stared at her and she couldn’t tear her eyes away from his. “How it had led him to betray those that had trusted him the most.”

“Nathaniel…”

He stepped out of her reach. “No. I…” He raked his hands through his hair and ran them down his face. “Instead of looking deeper, I was petty and acted like a child would when someone told them that the hero they had worshiped for years was actually a criminal. I never gave you a chance to explain your side of the story, I never _wanted_ to give you a chance to explain. I thought he had his reasons for doing the things he did; we were at war, for Andraste’s sake. How could he have changed so much over the years?”

“This wasn’t your fault,” Moira told him. They may have been apart for nearly a decade, but she still knew him. The look in his eyes told her that he had spent most of their ride back blaming himself for what had happened. “If my own father couldn’t see past his dearest friend’s façade, how could you?”

“But what if it _is_ my fault?” he demanded. “I didn’t have much of a choice, but what if I had never left in the first place? Surely there would have been signs that I could have seen. I could have talked some sense into Father. I could have…” Nathaniel held onto her upper arms, his hands squeezing almost to the point of pain. “I could have stopped him from murdering your family. Maker, the things that Delilah told me. My father was a monster.”

“He was a man you deeply respected and admired.”

“As was your father. Bryce Cousland was a man I saw as a model of how a man should treat others. How could I have ever thought your father would have betrayed his country, that he would have put politics above his family when he always preached the opposite? To instantly believe the worst…” His face crumpled and his fingers tightened on her arms. “Can you ever forgive me, Moira?”

Reaching out, she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him close to her. He let out a shaky breath, his arms going about her waist, holding tight as if he feared she’d slip through his fingers. “There’s nothing to forgive,” she breathed, her lips near his ear.

“I’ve treated you with such contempt. I feel like a fool.” He turned his head so that his nose brushed against hers as his hand settled between her shoulderblades. “Why haven’t you screamed for vengeance? How could you be so forgiving of his crimes?”

Moira stepped away and walked towards the window. The last of the day’s sun made the sky outside a soft lavender color that was quickly bleeding to the dark blues of twilight. “I’ve already gone that way, Nathaniel,” she said quietly, her arms wrapping around herself. “It wasn’t a pleasant choice. My father was still alive when I fled, and thing he asked of me was to not let Rendon poison me, that I keep the goodness my father saw in me safe. I didn’t listen. Everyone kept looking to me for leadership, but I was just so _angry_ all the time. The need for revenge kept me going most days, and it nearly consumed me.”

“I’m glad to see that it didn’t.”

Moira stared out the window. “It came close. I thought that once I brought your father to justice that I”d feel some sort of peace, that I could finally let my parents’ memory rest.”

He watched her from where he stood. Her body language told him that she didn’t want anyone close at the moment. “I take it that you didn’t find what you were looking for.”

She shook her head. “No, I didn’t.” Her mind went back to the dungeons in Denerim. She could remember that the scent of burning wood had assaulted her nose while the shouts and cries of her dying guards rang in her ears while she fought with Rendon. The memory of Oriana’s face frozen in fear, of Oren crumpled on the floor like a discarded doll, the way she had slipped and nearly fallen in her father’s blood, the fearlessness of her mother…all of those memories flashed before her eyes as her blades clashed with Howe’s axe. She had seen the expression on Ser Gilmore’s face that last time in her mind’s eye; the grim set of his mouth telling her that he knew he would die long before the sun came up.

With the arl’s final breath, all the voices suddenly went silent, leaving her trying to catch her breath while she clutched at her side, her blood dripping from between her fingers. “Instead of feeling peace, I felt empty. There was no sense that I had avenged anyone at all.” It was only when she was sitting in Fort Drakon with Rendon’s blood staining her hands that she realized just how close she had been to losing herself to her rage. The thought that she could have easily become that same type of monster as the one that had murdered her parents had made her physically ill.

“How,” Nathaniel closed his eyes tightly, his hands fisting at his side. He wasn’t sure he wanted to ask the next question, but he had to know. “How did he die? Was it painful, or did you finish him quickly?”

Moira turned to him. “I’ve never had the stomach to cause unnecessary suffering, and your father was no exception.” At her side, her right hand curled around an imaginary sword hilt as she remembered the way her family’s blade had gone through the front of Rendon’s armor and out his back, how she had to yank at the sword to slide it out of his body. “He lived long enough to curse at me one last time.”     

“He caused so much hardship,” Nathaniel said, putting his hands on her shoulders. “And now it seems as if the last of the Howes are better off without him. It’s difficult to wrap my mind around it all.”

She leaned against him, her forehead resting against his shoulder. “Take your time.” Her hands splayed over his back and her breath hitched at the familiar feel of his arms around her again. Now that everything was out in the open, she thought that the healing process could truly begin, not just for her, but for him as well.

“There had been a good side to him once,” Nathaniel murmured, his cheek against her hair. “It still doesn’t excuse his actions, but I guess that was the side of him that I had looked up to, the side that I thought he still possessed. How could I have read everything so wrong? There aren’t enough apologies in the world to make up for how horrible I’ve been treating you. And here you’ve been nothing but gracious and,” he slid his hands down until he was able to grasp hers. He tilted his head so he could look her in the eye. “And something of a friend to me, even while I was acting like an ass. Or am I reading _that_ wrong as well?”

She stared down at their joined hands. “No, I would like to… I _do_ consider you a friend.” She gave his hands a reassuring squeeze. “And I would hope that you could consider me one as well.”

He let out a breath. “Good.” Then he looked at her in a way that made her stomach flip and her heart beat faster. “Good,” he said softly, his thumbs running over her knuckles. “So, where does this leave us now?”

She shrugged. “Wherever we wish to be.” Secretly, she held onto the hope that he would want to rekindle their past relationship, but realistically she knew that it was a poor time to do so. With everything going on, the last thing they needed was to be distracted.

He looked at her and felt the tiniest flare of hope. “It’s been a long time since I last wrote you,” he said, leading her towards the window seat.

“Two years,” she agreed, sitting down with him.

“That’s an awful lot of ground to go over, but tell me, what have you been doing?”

She gave a watery laugh and blinked several times to clear her blurred vision. _Here_ was the Nathaniel she had known. _Maker, how I’ve missed you, Nate_. Leaning against his side, she spread her hands. “Well, I guess I should probably start at Ostagar. As a friend once put it, the one good thing about the Blight was how it brought people together.” She dove into her tale and Nathaniel listened raptly, draping his arm over her shoulder, his fingers playing with the strands of her hair. _Here_ was the Moira he had left behind. A feeling of contentedness washed over him and he couldn’t help but think that of all the things that his father had stolen - from the Couslands as well as his own family - Nathaniel was grateful that he had been able to regain this.

He gave Moira’s shoulder a squeeze. Out of all the treasures in Vigil’s Keep, this moment and what it represented was the most priceless of them all.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I went and applied some artistic creativity with what happens when you’re thrown into the Fade during the Blackmarsh. A plot bunny wanted to see what would happen to Nathaniel if he had been around during the Circle Tower quest in Origins, so this was born.
> 
> As for the lack of Oghren…for continuity’s sake I’ll just say that Anders spooked him with all the ghost stories surrounding the Blackmarsh and he decided to sit this one out.

Nathaniel groaned, holding the side of his head with his hand. Blinking, he looked up at the sky above him, wondering how long he had been out. The events leading up to him being laid out flat on his back were a bit of a blur: all he could recall was entering the Blackmarsh, finding Kristoff’s body, and then being ambushed by a talking darkspawn named the First. Then they’d been…

He grabbed his discarded bow and rolled to his feet, ignoring the way his surroundings spun dizzily on him. “Moira?” He looked around, ears straining to hear any sort of answer. “Anders?” Fitting an arrow against his bow, he held it at the ready in front of him. “Moira! Answer me!” He walked down the muddy path, his pulse thundering in his ears and body tense for any type of confrontation. The last he had seen of Moira had been when he had thrown himself over her, trying to protect her with his body from whatever magical blast the First had conjured up. By his reasoning, she and Anders should have been right next to him.

_Over here!_ Nathaniel’s head whipped around to the left, his bow trained at anything that might jump out in front of him. For a moment, he could have sworn Moira had called out to him. Cautiously turning, he walked towards her voice.

“Where are you?”

_Come closer! We’re this way!_ His feet came to a halt when the dirt path suddenly turned into stone. Looking around, he saw that he had somehow walked inside a building. “How can this be?” he wondered aloud. “There aren’t any buildings here this well preserved.” Continuing down the stone walkway, he couldn’t help but notice that the scenery looked vaguely familiar, as if he’d been there before. If he wasn’t mistaken, the area almost looked like one of the interior courtyards at Vigil’s Keep where his mother had kept her roses. That was _impossible_ ; they were miles away. But still…

“Moira!” Something was compelling him to put his bow away. Every single piece of common sense he had told him that he shouldn’t, that he should watch for enemies, but he couldn’t keep his arms from putting the arrow back in his quiver and slinging his bow over his shoulder.

The sound of footsteps had him stopping in the middle of the corridor. It was foggy, but he could see that he had indeed found his way into a garden. “Papa!” A small girl around five years of age shot out from a side entrance, her arms stretched out to him. Almost as if another person was operating his body’s motions, Nathaniel couldn’t stop from kneeling down, his arms scooping her up. The girl squealed in joy, peppering his cheeks with tiny kisses. With each kiss, Nathaniel felt his head growing fuzzier and fuzzier.

He broke out into a large smile. “There’s my girl. Did you miss me?” He shifted her weight onto one of his arms, his free hand reaching out to tickle her sides.

“Presents!”

“Evelyn, what did I tell you about pestering your father for gifts as soon as he’s arrived?” Nathaniel looked up and saw Moira come down the pathway. She laughed as she shook her head. “At least let him rest for a while.”

“Moira…” She came closer, her eyes shining affectionately.

“Welcome home, Husband,” she said, reaching out to embrace him. “Did your business in Denerim conclude to your satisfaction?”

“Yes, it did. His Highness is most pleased with Amaranthine’s supply of soldiers.”

Moira nodded. “I had a feeling that Cailan would be,” she agreed.

Nathaniel blinked. “Cailan?”

“Yes. King Cailan.” She laughed and cupped his cheek. “Surely you haven’t forgotten our king’s name in such a short time?”

“But…” he shook his head, as if to clear it. Something was nagging at the back of his mind, but he couldn’t place it. “Forgive me, Love. I must be more tired from my trip than I had realized.”

Moira took hold of his hand. “Come then. Your father is waiting in the throne room for your report.”

He pulled his hand out of her grasp, her words pulling him out of the fuzzy stupor he had fallen under. “My father? But Father is dead.” Something was _not_ right. “You killed him for murdering your family.”

Evelyn fidgeted against his side and Moira looked at him in horror. “What a terrible thing to say!” she told him. “My family isn’t dead; I just received a letter from Mother this morning! And I would _never_ harm your father; Rendon is a dear man.” She put her hand on her abdomen. “Look at what you’ve done; you’ve upset the baby.”

Nathaniel was instantly contrite. “I’m such a fool,” he said, putting his hand on the gentle swell of his wife’s stomach. Underneath his palm, he could feel a faint fluttering, as if the child there was kicking. “My head feels so strange.”

Moira’s hands covered his. “Perhaps you should go straight to our bedroom and rest. I’m sure your father won’t mind waiting for your report.” She winked at him. “Let me get Evelyn settled with Adria and I’ll join you.” She went up on tiptoes, brushing her lips against his. Nathaniel closed his eyes and slanted his head, deepening the kiss. Holding his daughter in one arm and his wife in the other, he felt as if he’d never been this content in his entire life. _I never want to be anywhere else but here,_ he thought. _I want to stay here forever._

Still, something was not right. Breaking the kiss, he pressed the side of his face against Moira’s hair. And that was when he realized what was wrong. There was a bitter, smoky scent there that did not belong.

“Lavender,” he murmured.

“What was that?”

“Your hair. It doesn’t smell right.”

Evelyn held his cheeks in her tiny hands. “Papa?”

A feeling of dread came over him. “This isn’t real. _You_ aren’t real. None of this is.” He backed away from Moira, who was frowning at him.  "Where am I?  Where's Moira?"

“Get away from him, foul demon!” Nathaniel turned towards the shout behind him, watching as Anders spun his staff around, magic gathering at the tip.

A loud growl came from the child in Nathaniel’s arms. “No!” Nathaniel looked down at Evelyn, whose face had twisted into a look of inhuman rage. Crying out, he threw her away from him. She landed on her feet, snarling at Anders the entire time.

“You’re too late!” Moira yelled, her face turning monstrous. “He’s ours, you can’t have him!” She opened her mouth and howled, launching herself at Nathaniel. Reflexes kicked in and he grabbed for the dagger at his belt. Blood splattered and the demon wearing Moira’s face sagged against him. “My love…” She reached for him one last time before dying.

Nathaniel jerked the dagger out of the demon’s chest, shoving the body as far away from him as possible. Stumbling over an overgrown root behind him, he landed hard on his backside. “Damn it,” he groaned, scrubbing his face with shaking hands. “That’s the second time I’ve had to do that.” His head clear, he saw that they were back in the Blackmarsh. It was still that oddly unsettling daylight time, but the pristine garden was once more only a crumbled slab of some long-abandoned building.

“Doesn’t get any easier, does it?” Anders asked, standing over the second demon, who was still smoking from the bolt of lightning he had lobbed at her.

“I don’t _want_ it to get any easier,” Nathaniel growled out. He took several deep breaths to help center himself, but his eyes kept staring at the demon with Moira’s face. Now that it was flat on its back, the bump of Moira’s midsection was more pronounced. He shuddered at the way Moira’s eyes stared lifelessly up at the sky, at the trail of blood dripping out of the corner of her mouth. It took a moment, but eventually her features faded away and the demon’s true nature revealed itself in death.

Thankfully, Anders decided to change the subject. “Looks as if the First, or whatever that darkspawn was calling himself, sent us straight into the Fade. Funny, this place looks a lot friendlier in broad daylight.”

“Friendly isn’t a word I would use,” he said dryly. “How much did you see?” Nathaniel asked, wiping his knife on the grass before sheathing it.

“I only came in at the very last, so not much. Desire demons: they tempt you with false promises of love and family, keeping you snared in their traps until you eventually succumb to the Fade. As far as ways to go, it’s pleasanter than some, but still, best to avoid it.” He held his hand out to pull Nathaniel up from the ground.

Nathaniel stared at the second demon. Disguised as a child, she’d had his black hair and Moira’s hazel eyes. _False love and family,_ he thought with a sneer. _More like tempting me with what might have been had the Blight never happened, my father hadn’t betrayed the Couslands, and Moira and I hadn’t become Wardens._ “Absolutely adore them,” he grumbled, gripping Anders’ forearm and rising. He looked over the area, noting that there was a contraption that shone in the sunlight nearby. Putting his hand on it, he jumped back when it activated.

“Ah, it looks like that will heal at least one of the tears in the Veil,” Anders said, coming up and examining the mechanism. “There was a similar one where I was.”

Nathaniel’s expression was grim. “Which means that there’s a third one somewhere else, more than likely wherever the Commander is.” Worry twisted his gut: at least he had Anders to help him with the demons, Moira was out there somewhere by herself. While he’d seen firsthand how formidable she was against foes, he had to wonder if she would be able to see through whatever temptation that demons would present to her.

“You’re smart. I like that.” Anders had to catch up to Nathaniel, who was already briskly walking ahead and trying to figure out just where the third tear may be. “Socks.”

It was so out of context from what they had been talking about that it made Nathaniel pause. “What?”

“I thought you might want to know that you weren’t the only one to be tempted by demons. Mine promised me a never-ending stash of nice, toasty warm socks that never grew thin at the heels.” He gave him a wry look. “Oh, and they also had my phylactery on a silver platter for me to destroy at my leisure, but the socks were what nearly won me over.”

Nathaniel shook his head in bewilderment. “You have strange priorities, Anders.”

“Thanks, I try.” He would have said something else, but the sounds of battle had reached them, causing both men to break into a run.

Nathaniel reached for an arrow and let it fly as he got into shooting range. Moira had already dispatched the lone desire demon, but she was surrounded by several other lesser-powered ones. “You won’t breathe a word of this to her, will you?”

Anders crossed his fingers over his chest as he lobbed a fireball at another demon. “My lips are sealed,” he promised. “Now, shall we focus on rescuing our Commander before we find out that she doesn’t need our help in the first place?”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From the Dragon Age Wiki: Reflection - A simple amulet with a mirrored back and an archaic symbol of the Chantry on the front. Sometimes, when gazing into the silvered backing, there are fleeting glimpses of someone else: the face is familiar, and the smile encouraging.

The return trip from the Blackmarsh seemed to take much longer than getting there had. Moira guessed that fatigue and pain had a hand in it: her neck and arm ached from where a Blight-ridden werewolf – and she was certain _that_ encounter would join the ranks of nightmares currently fueling her dreams – had mauled her. She was bloody, exhausted, and their newest Warden companion named Justice was slightly unnerving, seeing as he was a Fade spirit inhabiting Kristoff’s dead body. It hadn’t helped that they had discovered darkspawn attacking a farmstead on their way home, the fight aggravating already sore muscles. All she wanted was a hot meal, a hot bath, and her bed, though not necessarily in that order.

Unfortunately, people began pulling Moira in one direction after another as soon as their party stepped foot inside Vigil’s Keep. The Private who often delivered her letters reported that Varel was looking for her and a maid fell into step beside them to confirm that Moira’s presence as Arlessa was needed, her hands already busily fussing with Moira’s gear. Moira grimaced when the woman’s hands hit a still tender spot on her shoulder and was about to open her mouth to protest when Nathaniel’s voice thundered behind her.

“Enough,” he barked, making everyone stop in their tracks. Turning to the Private, he crossed his arms over his chest and glowered. “Is this a dire matter?”

“I’m afraid so, Ser. Seneschal Varel requested the Commander’s presence immediately. There are several matters that need to be addressed, including criminal issues.”

“Report to Varel,” Nathaniel continued. “Inform him that the Commander will address these issues as soon as possible, but not until after…” He rolled his eyes at the maid who had her lip curled upwards in distaste as she stared at Moira’s hair. “Oh, for Andraste’s sake, _yes_ , those are dead darkspawn bits in her hair.” He reached out and plucked the offending material out of Moira’s tangled braids at the back of her head, tossing them onto the ground. “Unless you think that he’ll mind her discussing matters as she is, then notify Varel that she’ll join him in the throne room once she’s had an opportunity to make herself more presentable.”

The maid bobbed a curtsey while stammering something about ordering hot water and the Private ran off into the Keep to deliver Nathaniel’s message. Moira all but sagged against him. “Thank you,” she said, giving him a halfhearted hug.

“You looked like you needed some assistance,” he told her, noting the way that the arm she had wrapped around his waist shook with fatigue. “Are you going to be able to do this?”

She looked up at him and he could see just how worn down she was. “I don’t have much of a choice, do I?”

His hand went over her shoulder, his fingers gentle as they traced over the still healing bite marks. Most of her armor had cracked and split under the pressure of werewolf fangs and demon hands; it had been far too painful to wear as is, so it was currently at the bottom of her pack. “You could order Varel to make decisions in your stead.”

“I could, but then people would say that I’m merely a figurehead; that if they really wanted to get to the true power of Amaranthine, then they needed to get past my seneschal.” There was a determined glint to her eye. “I may not have become Arlessa under the most ideal of circumstances, but I’m going to try to be the best one that I’m capable of being.”

“Go to your bath,” Nathaniel quietly said as he stepped away. “Just try not to fall asleep in the tub; I may have bought you some time, but if I remember properly, citizens with concerns are only patient for so long.”

The hot water was heavenly against Moira’s aching muscles. She sighed and attempted to unwind, but her self-imposed time restraints had her rushing through her bathing routine. Jillian, the maid from the courtyard, came in and helped Moira into a dark blue gown with a contrasting girdle in a soft grey fabric. The dress had a high neckline and long sleeves, for which Moira was grateful. The fang and claw marks were still a vivid red against her pale skin, which would probably be seen as a weakness to whoever she would be addressing. Anders had healed her as best as he could, but he had already been exhausted trying to keep them all alive while they fought against the pride demon. She shuddered, still feeling the demon’s hand around her as it squeezed. Luckily, Anders had enough mana left at the time to heal the ribs that had snapped under the pressure of the demon’s grasp, but the muscles around them were still incredibly sore. Her breath hissed out between clenched teeth as Jillian tightened the laces of the girdle, her abused ribs protesting. Moira sat at her makeup stand and watched in the mirror as Jillian brushed her hair into a style that hid the fact that it was still wet, fastening everything with a pair of silver combs edged with sapphires. Looking at herself with her hair pulled away from her face, she couldn’t help but notice the dark smudges underneath her eyes or the way that her face had lost all traces of its former girlhood roundness. She was only twenty-eight, but she looked older. She wasn’t certain that was a good thing or not.

“I was sent to make certain you didn’t drown,” Anders said, knocking on her bedroom door even as he opened it, much to Jillian’s protests that her lady wasn’t presentable. Moira looked him over, noticing that even though he looked as worn out as she felt, he still had the energy to give her an appraising leer. “If I do say so, you clean up quite nicely, Commander.” He held out his elbow and she went to him, the two of them propping the other up as they walked down the hallway.

“You don’t have to stay,” Moira told him. “Get some sleep; you look like you’re ready to drop.”

“Truthfully, this whole Grey Warden business isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. I mean, I’m grateful to be free from the Circle, but it’s been nothing but work, work, work since I signed on. Where’s the wine, women and song that I’d been promised?”

She hid her smile and a corresponding yawn behind her hand. “I don’t seem to recall that being part of the Joining,” she said. “Though I do believe we’ve all earned a rest.”

“Too bad you have to deal with Arlessa business.”

“Well, that’s what happens when you’re the boss of everyone.” She looked up at him. “Did Varel send you to escort me down?”

Anders shook his head. “No, our ever dour Howe did.” He arched his eyebrow when he felt her stumble against him in surprise. “What’s the story between you two? You hardly say a civil word to the other for days on end, but now lately the two of you are chatting like you’re old friends.”

Moira bit her lip. “We _are_ old friends,” she said carefully. “We grew up together.”

“Then what was with the ever so pleasant glaring contests the two of you were doing since you met him again? Let me tell you, filling in awkward silences with clever banter has never been so difficult.”

Moira’s hand went up to toy with the necklace she had chosen to wear, her fingers running over the raised Chantry symbol on the front of the pendant. “It’s a very long story, one that we don’t presently have time to go through. Needless to say, Nathaniel and I have worked through our differences.”

Anders gave an amused sounding chuckle. “I’ll say.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shrugged. “Nothing.” Pushing the door to the throne room open, he guided her through, his hand warm on the middle of her back. “One of these days, you’re going to have to ask him what he saw back there in the Fade.” She wanted to ask him what he meant, but he was already drifting away from her and backing out the way they had come in. She looked around, finding Nathaniel in his customary corner looking just as exhausted as she felt. None of the other Wardens were present, which made Moira wonder why he had decided to stay. She couldn’t help the blush that rose to her cheeks when she saw the look of silent admiration he gave her, his lips turning up into a small half-smile. Deciding to ignore the butterflies that Nathaniel inspired because she couldn’t afford to be flustered at the moment, she kept her back straight and walked as elegantly as she was able to in her current state towards the dais.

Sitting, Moira quickly found out, on the Keep’s throne was incredibly uncomfortable. It might have been better if the chair itself was constructed differently; the tall, hard back and narrow, unforgiving seat was not her first choice in seating arrangements. Then again, the dress she had been fit into wasn’t helping matters either. Sitting with anything less than perfect posture made the girdle’s boning dig into her sides, which in turn made taking a full breath a challenge. She listened, uncomfortable and tired, as she was presented with three cases. The first two had been easy to judge; the sheepherder Alec had been conscripted into her army as payment for stealing grain and she had sided with Ser Darren in the land dispute between him and Lady Liza. The third had been more difficult. Ser Temmerly had been accused of murdering Ser Tamra. The news had caused her heart to plummet; it seemed as if the conspirators were real and had claimed their first victim. Moira tamped down her frustration: she _still_ had no word on where to find this Dark Wolf to help her out and she refused to outright stalk the nobility under her rule. Varel had advised her to let Ser Temmerly go due to lack of solid proof, but Moira knew in her heart that he had taken part in the murder just by the smug grin on his lips and the arrogant way he held himself. In the end, she had ordered him imprisoned while a lengthy investigation was put underway. Ser Temmerly hadn’t been pleased with her ruling and the glare he had given her as he was led away had chilled her to the bone.

Hall cleared, Moira found herself unable to leave. Part of it was plain exhaustion, but the other part was that she found herself brooding over her three judgments. Frowning, she played with her pendant again, holding it up in the torchlight. Every once and a while, she swore she saw her father smile up at her on the mirrored back.

“What would you have to say about this, Papa?” she asked quietly, her fingertip running along the edge of the hazy figure. She could remember hiding behind the heavy tapestries in the Great Hall as a child, elbowing Fergus out of the way as they listened to their father address the concerns of the citizens of Highever. He had been fair with his judgments, justly punishing those that had committed crimes and dissolving potentially volatile situations with tact and grace. After, she remembered how he would sit in his chair – it had been wider and more approachable than the one she was currently perched on – and call out to his children. It had never amazed Moira how he had always known when they were listening in, especially since she and her brother took great pains to be as silent as Chantry mice for fear that Nan would find them and make them leave.

_Have I done the right thing, Pup,_ he had often asked her, wondering what her and Fergus’ opinions had been on what they just witnessed. She remembered curling onto his lap and snuggling against his side while they spoke, feeling safe and loved. It was only later as she grew older that he sought their opinions as half teaching experience, half a way to organize his own thoughts.

She sighed. Here, she didn’t have a lap to sit in or comforting arms to hold her, nor did she have a sounding board to ask if she had done what was right. Wincing, she rose from the throne and put her hand against her aching ribs. It would be good to get out of the dress and flop atop her bed. If she had anything to say about it, she would be allowed to sleep until late afternoon.

“Are you still in pain?”

Moira stifled a scream and whirled around. “I wish you wouldn’t sneak up on me like that, Nate,” she said, her hand against her throat.

He gave her a rueful smile. “Sorry, habit.” Tilting his head, he thought her words over. “That’s the first time I’ve heard you call me Nate in years.”

She opened her mouth, but then shut it again, her cheeks pink. “It slipped out. I won’t, if you prefer.”

“No, I don’t mind.” He _didn’t_ mind; hearing her call him by his old nickname sent a warm thrill through him. “But back to my question, are you still in pain?”

She grimaced. “It’s these damnable stays,” she complained. “I swear some man fashioned this dress. A woman wouldn’t have put laces where one couldn’t easily reach.”

“It’s a very pretty dress,” he said, turning Moira so that her back was facing him. He’d seen her in mostly blood splattered armor lately; it made him forget just how lovely she could look in more courtly wear. Deftly loosening the grey laces, he heard her sigh in relief.

“I guess Leliana was right; beauty is pain.” They were quiet for a moment then she spoke up. “Did I do the right thing?” she asked. She may not have her father’s comforting words to fall back on, but she wondered if she might have a sounding board with her after all.

“On which one?”

“All of them.” Without the binding girdle, sitting upon the throne was worlds easier.

Nathaniel sprawled on the stone steps at her feet, leaning his back against the chair. “Theft from the Crown is punishable by hanging,” he said, quoting the law. “Had he stolen from anyone less he could have gotten away with a simple flogging.”

“That’s what Varel said.”

“Then why did you choose to have him serve in your army instead?”

Moira tapped her fingers against the arm of the throne. “Because he stole the grain to feed his starving family. The Blight has touched everyone, especially those who rely on their fields and livestock as a way of life.” Darkspawn had destroyed those fields and slaughtered the livestock, leaving nothing for the survivors. “A dead man cannot provide for his family, nor can a man recovering from a flogging.”

“He’s a sheepherder. How do you know he won’t simply die in the next fight he’s in?”

Moira pinched the bridge of her nose. “Even if he is, his family will be well taken care of. In the meantime, they will get their ration of grain as well as a soldier’s pay to set aside for more provisions.” She leaned back, her head hitting the hard back of the throne with a muted thump. “What of Ser Darren?”

“My father had a written pact with Lady Liza. Legally, that bridge should have gone to her.”

She sighed. “I know it should have.” She also knew that if she had denied Darren that she would have been without one more supportive voice in the crowd. She needed all the help that she could get.

Nathaniel looked up at her, noticing the way she worried her bottom lip between her teeth. It was a nervous habit of hers that she did whenever she was distressed about something. “You had very little choice in the matter,” he said softly, reaching up and taking hold of her hand. “You could have given the land to Lady Liza and risked losing one of your few allies doing so or you could have simply taken the land for yourself.”

She snorted. “Ah, yes. And then I’d be seen as a tyrant by both parties. I think not.” She looked down to where Nathaniel had laced his fingers with her own. She had forgotten just how tactile he had been when they were together, and how much she had missed the simple touch of another person. Court life all but forbade touching, lest gossips start rumors. In her attempt to keep the illusion that the new King and Queen were a love match instead of a marriage of political convenience, she refrained from the simplest friendly elbow or supportive hug, even when she could feel that Alistair needed one. In the short time she had been there, she’d felt isolated in the palace, even when surrounded by a great deal of people. “Which brings us to Ser Temmerly.”

His eyes narrowed. “He is guilty.”

“You felt it as well?”

Nathaniel nodded. “He thinks that being born noble gives him immunity. Unfortunately, you didn’t have enough evidence to merely order his execution.”

“I wanted to,” she confessed. “Yet if I did, what message would that send to everyone?” The look Temmerly had given her had made her wonder if he was in on the conspiracy on her life as well. Keeping him behind bars meant that there was one less potential killer out on the loose.

“Imprisoning him was the fair verdict.” He glanced up at her, his face serious. “Although it doesn’t mean that he can’t meet his end behind bars just the same.” He too felt that Temmerly was involved with the plot against Moira and he would sleep much better knowing that the man was dead.

She arched her eyebrow. “You’re speaking of killing him yourself.”

“Yes.”

She shifted so she was facing him, her body leaning towards his, heedless of her ribs. “You would do that for me?”

“If you asked it of me, yes.” They were whispering now, their faces close.

Moira looked away first. “I’ll not have you play the part of assassin,” she said quietly, slipping her fingers away from his. “This is my mess; I should be the one to clean it up.” She stood up and stepped down from the dais.

“Why must you think that you have to do everything alone?” he demanded, coming up behind her. His hand roughly went around her arm and she drew a sharp breath in through her nose as pain flared up her shoulder. “That sort of thinking is why touching you now hurts so much.”

“Anders doesn’t wear armor. He could have been killed had I not stepped in the way.”

Nathaniel fought the urge to squeeze her shoulders in frustration. “Then he should bloody well _start_ wearing armor,” he growled instead, moving away.

“You’ve acted differently since we’ve come back,” she said, turning to face him. “You’ve been protective of me; what’s changed?”

“I thought we were friends,” he said sullenly. “Isn’t it usual for someone to wish to protect their comrade?”

“This goes past that, Nathaniel.” She bit her lip again. She had a split second to debate saying what was on her mind before barreling forward. “Anders said that something happened when we were in the Fade.”

He shook his head and exhaled loudly. “What part of _not a word of this to Moira_ does that man not understand?” he muttered to himself. Looking at her, he sighed. “We were married,” he told her. “The demons, they gave me a world where none of this had happened – the Blight, my father’s betrayal, everything. It was as it should have been once I returned from the Free Marches. I was in charge of Father’s garrison. We had a daughter together and another child on the way.”

Moira’s breath caught in her throat. “Oh, Nate…” Reaching up, she cupped his cheek with her palm. He turned his face against her hand, his lips dragging over the skin at her wrist.

“When I realized that something was wrong, they attacked.” He closed his eyes and pressed her hand tighter against his cheek. “I _hate_ the fact that I have to kill monsters that look like you. I don’t know if I can bear to do it again.”

Moira’s heart went out to him. “Her name was Evelyn.”

His eyes flew open. “How did you know?”

She gave him a sad smile. “I always wanted a daughter with that name.” She thought on his words. Desire demons played on their victim’s deepest wishes. They’d shown him a world where the two of them had been married, had they not? Did that mean… “Alistair mentioned that it was very rare for a Warden to have children, and if they did, then they were from before they had undergone the Joining. I can only imagine how difficult it would be for two Wardens to have a family.”

He looked at her, the backs of his fingers gently running along her cheeks. He curled his fingers downwards until he was stroking the sides of her jawline with the pads of his thumbs. His brain was still processing _I always wanted a daughter_ when he realized that the upset look in her eyes was due to the possibility of the two of _them_ never being able to have children. Ever since clearing the air between them, there had been this little kernel of hope that things could go back to the way they had been. He’d seen the way she looked at him when she thought he wasn’t aware and his feelings for her hadn’t changed. That kernel of hope flared to life as they stared at the other, Moira’s eyes flicking quickly to his mouth before returning back to his eyes.

“You would have made a good mother,” he murmured, stepping in closer, his hands going to her waist without him realizing it. Moira’s heart beat faster – he was so close now that she could feel his breath ghost over her lips. “And you’re doing the right thing now, with this arling. Don’t ever doubt that.” Giving into temptation, he bridged the tiny gap between them and brushed his lips over the soft skin of her cheek, inhaling the scent of lavender from her bath. He stepped away with one last press of his cheek against hers before heading to the door.

Moira stared at his retreating figure. Bringing the pendant back up to eye level, she let out a shaky breath. “Well Papa,” she said. “What do you think of _this_ development?” She searched the mirrored backing for any trace of the figure who so often smiled encouragingly up at her, but all that was reflected back at her was her own image.


	15. Chapter 15

While Moira had originally planned to sleep the entire day away after coming back from the Blackmarsh, her body and her sense of duty hadn’t cooperated with her. With the news of Ser Tamara’s death driving home just how important finding this Dark Wolf now was, there was no time to waste. Even if that hadn’t been an issue, Moira’s eyes had snapped open well before dawn and the lingering ache in her muscles had made staying abed difficult. To top matters off, her stomach had rumbled something fierce, finally causing her to cast off the sheets, dress and wander into the kitchens. The cooking staff was sleepily starting their day: hearths had just been lit and meals for the day in their beginning stages. When the head cook saw her, he had stood to attention and was about to bark orders to whip up a hot breakfast for her, but Moira had waved him aside, telling him that if he could brew up a pot of tea for her, she could hunt down something from the larder for a quick meal.

She had just stepped into the massive pantry when she realized that she wasn’t alone. “A bit early to be raiding the dried sausages, isn’t it?”

Nathaniel jumped, an apple in the crook of his arm falling to the ground. “Maker’s breath!” Turning around, he shook his head. “I didn’t even hear you come up.”

Moira smirked. “Sorry.” She bent to pick up the apple and dusted it off on the sleeve of her tunic. “Couldn’t sleep either?”

“You would think that after everything we went through yesterday that I’d still be tired, but I guess old habits die hard. I trained with a garrison in Kirkwall for several years; you had to be up early if you wanted to get the best seats in the mess hall.” He grabbed a loaf of day-old bread and a jar of preserves. Moira had to smile at that; Nathaniel had always had a bit of a sweet tooth. She pulled out one of the serving trays conveniently stored nearby and helped him load his bounty onto it. “And what of you? How are you feeling?”

Moira put a hand to her side. “A bit sore still, but nothing I can’t tolerate. I tried to stay in bed, but my stomach wouldn’t let me.”

He laughed. “I know the feeling.”

There was a brief silence between them and Moira could see Nathaniel looking for something more to say that might extend the moment and keep them together longer. “I was planning on having a quick breakfast in the gardens,” she blurted. Biting at her lip, she looked up at him hesitantly. “If you don’t mind, I’d like it if…would you care to join me?”

Nathaniel gave her that little half-smile of his and it seemed as if the years and all the distance they had between them fell away until she was sixteen all over again, blushing and with butterflies fluttering in her belly. “I’d like that very much.”

By the time they had gathered a few more provisions, the head chef had produced an iron kettle, the fragrant scent of tea wafting from it. A quick grab of an extra teacup later and the two of them were settling onto a bench in the gardens, the tray of food between them.

“So, what’s the plan?” Nathaniel asked, cutting an apple into slices with his knife.

Moira calmly buttered bread and slathered on preserves, portioning out enough for both of them. “It’s still early, but I thought that we’d gear up and head into Amaranthine later this morning. We’ll get there just in time for the busy part of the day when the most people are out and better our chances at finding this Dark Wolf. Too many people have died for us to sit idle.”

“There’s only been one death so far,” Nathaniel said, moving from the fruit to a small wedge of cheese they’d picked out. “And you’re right; that’s one death too many.”

“I can only hope that this person can help us find information. At this point, I can only speculate on who my would-be assassins are, but speculations alone won’t lead us to stopping them.  I'll sleep better once I have solid proof.” She chewed thoughtfully on an apple piece sandwiched between two slices of cheese, setting her food down long enough to pour two cups of tea.

Nathaniel tore at his bread. “And I'll sleep better once this threat is behind us.  You said once that this wasn’t the first time someone’s tried to kill you,” he started, licking preserves off his thumb before taking the offered teacup. “How many other times has this happened?”

Moira absently swirled the cube of sugar around her cup, watching as it slowly dissolved. “I stopped counting. Too many people had their different reasons for seeing me dead during the Blight; I was more concerned about keeping myself alive than tallying which ones were angry with Alistair's bid for the throne, which ones believed that Anora should rule alone, or ones who tried to kill both Alistair and I because they were loyal to Loghain, or angry about Cailan, or just enraged at the fact that we were Wardens and they felt that we were to blame for the Blight.”  She purposely left off the handful of attempts on her life by people loyal to Rendon Howe, determined that a Cousland die by their hand in his name.

He frowned. “I’m sorry. I wish I could have been there to…” He let loose a low laugh and shook his head. “Well, I guess you didn’t _need_ protecting. You never have. You’ve always been more the kind to save yourself than waiting around for others to do the saving.”

Moira took a sip of her quickly cooling tea. “It doesn’t mean I wouldn’t have appreciated the gesture.”

They were silent for a while, the only sounds between them the crunching of day-old bread and the gentle clatter of china. They listened as the keep slowly came to life, the sounds of the new workers she and Mistress Woolsey had started recruiting from town soon joining the birdsong and beginnings of construction work on the main walls. It would take some time, but she’d been assured that once they were finished, she’d have the strongest fortifications available.

Moira cast her eyes around the gardens. The old and slightly overgrown ornamental plants had been uprooted, the beds turned with fresh soil and more practical medicinal herbs planted. Moira couldn’t wait for the plants to mature enough for harvesting; having a steady supply on hand would cut down on scavenging missions to stock up their stores and free resources up to tend to other things. The infirmary had been just as neglected and understocked as the rest of the keep, but at least it had been structurally sound. Moira had turned Anders loose, allowing him free run of the place to improve it as he saw fit. The mage had taken to it with gusto, his knowledge of healing and medicine quickly churning out lists of supplies and improvements that she still had to completely look over. Slowly but surely, Vigil’s Keep was coming back to life. Moira couldn’t help but be pleased with the progress.

“Well,” she said, “this has certainly been a better breakfast out of doors than I’m used to having.”

“Oh? And how did your usual breakfasts go?”

Moira snagged the last apple slice, her fingers brushing against Nathaniel’s as he reached for the last piece of cheese. “Mostly rushed. Whoever had been on third watch would have already had something cooking and ready to go while the others broke down camp and prepared for the day. Leliana made a sweet camp bread that was good for eating on the go, and while I never got the hang of Nan’s hand pies, I must brag on my oatmeal.”

He laughed. “Then I’m going to have to request your specialty the next time we’re afield for days at a time. I simply cannot live my life without tasting something so divine.”

“I shall endeavor not to disappoint milord’s taste buds,” Moira teased, the smile on her face making her cheeks ache even as it caused her heart to float happily in her chest. Sighing, she reached for his hand. “Thank you for this morning, Nate. I haven’t laughed like this in…” her smile faltered. “In a very long time. You make me feel like myself again.”

Nathaniel easily brought their joined hands up to his lips, kissing her knuckles. The skin there was travel and battle-roughened against his lips, the ridges of tiny scars present that hadn’t been there a decade ago. “I could say the same,” he confessed. He let go of her hand only long enough to move the tray holding the remnants of their breakfast between them aside, moving closer to her on the bench until they were sitting shoulder to shoulder, their legs touching. Something unknotted in his chest when she gladly leaned against him, her head cradled against his shoulder. Without hesitation, his arm went around her and his chin rested easily against the crown of her head.

“We really should think about heading out,” she murmured, her hand sliding across his back as she made no move to get up.

“We should,” he agreed, reaching out with his left hand to hold onto her right. He moved his head only far enough to drop an easy kiss against her hair. _How I’ve missed this._ “In a moment. Let’s stay here a little while longer.”

Moira turned her head, her lips brushing over the skin his open collar exposed. “All right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I changed up this chapter after reading the original one over, cutting out talk from past travels in favor of letting Nate and Moira have a quiet moment to themselves that's a bit more about regaining lost footing in their relationship than the original had been. I almost merged this chapter and the next together, but felt as if both were pretty solid from start to finish to remain standing on their own.


	16. Chapter 16

As predicted, the marketplace was bustling with people by the time the Moira, Nathaniel, Anders and Oghren arrived. Anders had been the one to suggest they split up to cover the most area, and Moira’s prayers had been answered when she and Oghren had investigated one of the seedier pubs: between Moira’s persuasive abilities and Oghren’s glowering stare, the two of them had pieced enough information to find their elusive would-be informant.

“We’re in luck,” Nathaniel said as they grouped up again. “Our Dark Wolf is in town today.”

Moira frowned as she scanned the crowd. “This doesn’t feel right.”

“What do you mean?”

“Why go through all the trouble of being hard to find and then once you’re in town, practically everyone knows where you are? I don’t get it.”

Anders sighed. “Wonderful. I was asking myself what was missing from today. An ambush would just add that extra little zing to the afternoon.”

“Hopefully it won’t come to that,” Nathaniel answered dryly. He glanced over at Moira, whose expression had turned stormy. “Everything all right?”

She nodded and pinched the bridge of her nose between her forefinger and thumb. “I just hope that this is worth it. This isn’t how I usually handle issues like this.”

“And what would be your usual way?”

Her smile was all teeth. “By beating assailants senseless first and asking questions later.”

Oghren guffawed. “That about sums it up. Just how many assassins have you gotten that way?”

“I lost track after a while.” She bit her bottom lip. The last two hadn’t even been directed at her. Worriedly, she wondered how Alistair was doing. _I know he can handle himself just fine, but still. Hopefully things will start to quiet down now after his and Anora’s wedding._ “The point is, I’m used to doing my own digging and investigating. I don’t like relying on other people to do things of this nature for me.”

“Eh, you just wanna get your hands dirty.”

“Well, that too.”

“I still can’t see how you two can be so flippant about the situation,” Nathaniel said, frowning from his spot in the back of their group as they began to walk out of the marketplace and more towards the residential area. “This is serious.”

Moira looked at him from over her shoulder, slowing down until they were walking side by side. “I _know_ it is. I don’t like walking around with this lingering on me just as much as you do. Unfortunately, there’s nothing that can be done about it without causing major waves and ruining any chance of support I may have from the people _not_ planning my eminent demise. Frankly, I’d rather actively look for my would-be killers than simply wait around for them to strike again.”

Nathaniel had to agree with her. They already had so much to worry about with the darkspawn threat; having some petty nobles come in with a planned coup was something that Moira didn’t need on her plate. “I don’t know if we can trust this person. Do you really think we should be offering money until we see results?”

Moira sighed. “No, but we’ve little choice.” She wanted to reach up and smooth that little wrinkle of worry that creased his brow, but stopped herself from going up on her tiptoes to do so at the very last minute. She did quietly slip her hand into his and give him a supportive squeeze before moving away once they drew closer to their intended destination. “That must be our so-called Ser Wolf,” she said, spotting a lone figure standing in the dappled shade ahead of them.

Oghren made a dismissive noise. “Nice metal bucket he’s got on his head. You’re gonna put up a big scene, aren’t you?” he asked, elbowing her.

She sniffed. “I don’t know.”

“Aww, come on. It’s _just_ a name.”

She crossed her arms. “One that didn’t come easily. You weren’t there.”

He rolled his eyes. “That’s because I’ve got no use for all the sneaking around that you sneaky rogue types do. Give me a good axe to clear my way any day.”

“What are they talking about?” Anders asked, leaning towards Nathaniel.

“I have no idea.” He listened as Moira and Oghren continued to talk as they approached the man. He couldn’t catch much from where he was standing, but he did hear the phrases _blasted thieves and their stupid sense of pride_ and _just don’t go killin’ the guy on account of a little mistaken identity_ thrown about by the dwarf.

“Sometimes,” Anders told him, “I kind of wish that I had been there for the Blight, especially when those two go into their little private in-joke moments.”

Nathaniel watched them, noting the ease the two had between them. He’d be lying if he said that he wasn’t a little bit envious. “As do I,” he said quietly.

“Ser Wolf, I presume,” Moira said, addressing the man. “You’re a hard person to find.”

“I’ve been watching you,” the man said, his voice echoing out from behind his helmet. “It seems that you need my help.”

Moira crossed her arms over her chest. “If you’ve been watching me, then you would have already heard of my little predicament and made yourself known before someone paid the price with their life.”

He straightened. “I hadn’t known about a death or else I would have come forward sooner.”

“You’re here now.” Moira narrowed her eyes. “How do I know that I can trust you?”

“It wouldn’t do if the Hero of Ferelden met her demise when there was something that I could do about it.” He gestured for them to follow him a little ways into the residential district, stopping once they reached a dead end alley. “I figured you’d want a bit of privacy. Can’t have the Arlessa seen making shady deals with a known vigilante, now can we?”

Moira arched an eyebrow, giving the impression that she wasn’t entirely impressed with the Dark Wolf. The slight groan and muttered _here we go_ that Oghren gave made Nathaniel pay closer attention to the conversation than he already had been. “And how do I know that you’ll be capable of doing this job?” she asked. “All I wish of you to do is listen in and unmask the people conspiring against me. Stealth will be of utmost importance.”

The man threw his shoulders back, ill-fitting helmet bobbing as he jutted his chin out. “I am the Dark Wolf,” he growled. “Surely you’ve heard the stories told about me.”

“Tales of the Dark Wolf’s deeds have spread as far in as the Free Marches,” Nathaniel supplied, standing off to Moira’s side. “I heard some of the things that you have done while traveling back here. Did you truly rob Ser Nancine of her sword and give the money you received from selling it to the poor in Denerim’s Alienage?”

“ _Liberated_ ,” Moira muttered under her breath. “Rob is such an ugly word.”

“I did. I also took on a hundred of Teyrn Loghain’s men to free money he had unlawfully taken from the poor.” He shifted on his feet. “I am the man for your job.”

Moira’s eyes narrowed. “How much will your information cost me?”

“Fifty sovereigns.”

“That’s highway robbery!” Anders squawked, indignant. “Surely you’re not going to stand for that!”

“Done,” Moira said, unhooking her money pouch from her belt. She tossed it at the man, who caught it one handed. “I just hope I’m not sending some foolish man to his death. You are no Dark Wolf.”

“I beg your pardon…” he said, sounding shaken.

Moira ignored Oghren’s groan and rolling eyes. “If you _are_ the Dark Wolf, then you’ll be able to tell me where Andraste’s tears were hidden.”

“Everyone knows the answer to that. They were in a storage room heavily guarded by Bann Franderel’s personal guard.”

Moira shook her head. “No they weren’t. That was a trap. The _real_ Dark Wolf would have known that the Tears were hidden in an unguarded treasure room in the Bann’s cellar. The door to the chamber had been disguised as a wine rack.”

The man took a step back. “How would you…” Moira’s words sunk in and the man nearly dropped his money. “My _lady_ ,” he breathed.

“Wait a minute,” Nathaniel said, glancing sideways at her, an incredulous look on his face. “ _You’re_ the Dark Wolf?”

Moira shook her head. “No, but I’ve met them before in person. Had they been here, we’d have already figured out my conspirator’s identities.”

The man’s shoulders fell. “You’re right; I’m not the Dark Wolf.” He took his helmet off, blond hair sweat-matted to his forehead. “I’m nobody, just a stable hand. My name is Owen.”

Nathaniel narrowed his eyes. “Then we’ve wasted our time,” he growled.

The man’s eyes widened. “No, I can still do this!” he protested. “I’m quiet, and no one pays me any mind. To those nobles, I’m just a nobody who shovels shit out of their horses’ stalls. You wouldn’t believe the things I’ve heard.”

Moira tilted her head. “And you’ve heard anything recently?”

“Nothing incriminating, but Bann Esmerelle doesn’t like you very much. I have a second job cleaning out her gardens and I’ve seen a lot of nobles come in and out of her home later in the evenings, looking like they’re up to no good.”

“Would you be able to identify them if you got closer?” Nathaniel asked.

“Aye, I would. If anything, I’d be able to by the horses in the Bann’s stable.” He looked at Moira. “Please, my lady, give me a chance. I’ll find the people you’re looking for before anyone else has to die, I swear it.”

Anders looked at the glances Moira and Nathaniel were exchanging, the two of them seeming to have a silent conversation that lasted all of a few seconds. “You’re not thinking of turning him away, are you?” he asked, leaning against his staff. “If he says that he can help, surely we should let him.”

Moira nodded. “You’re right.” Turning back to Owen, she uncrossed her arms from in front of her chest. “Just be careful, that’s all I ask. Remember, all I need from you is information. Do _not_ try to take these people on by yourself.”

“I’ll be as silent as a shadow, I swear it.” Owen glanced down at the sack of coins that he held in his hands. “I can’t take your money though,” he told her, pushing the bag back into Moira’s hands. “You’ve only been here for a short time, but people are already talking about the good that you’re doing. Besides, you’re the hero of Ferelden! I’ll do this for you for free.”

Moira shook her head. “You have a family, do you not?”

“Three sisters. One of them works in the Crown and Lion, that’s how I found out you were looking for me.”

“Then take this money with my blessing.” She leaned forward conspiratorially. “In the words of our friend the Dark Wolf, It belonged to some nobleman who is probably cursing their ill fortune at the moment.”

“Maker watch over you,” the man said, hugging the pouch close to his chest. “I might not be as good as the _real_ Dark Wolf, but I can hold my own in the stealth department. Give me a few days to listen in and I’ll report back with what I find.”

Moira watched the man leave, impressed by the way he blended in with the shadows, vanishing out of sight. “So,” Anders said. “That went well.”

Oghren shook his head. “I’m disappointed in you, Warden,” he said. “And here I thought you were going to throw the biggest temper tantrum this Age has ever seen.”

Moira shrugged. “Well, it wouldn’t do to go blurting out my identity, now would it? The fewer people know, the more I can use it to do the things my hands may otherwise be politically tied to do.”

Nathaniel slowed down as they retraced their steps back towards Amaranthine’s gates. “So the sword, the Teyrn’s crown, the _bleeding tears of Andraste_ …that was all _you_?”

She smirked. “You sound surprised. I didn’t do it all alone; Leliana and Zevran helped.”

“And earned the nickname of the Wolf’s Birds in the process,” Anders said, whistling appreciatively. “Did you _really_ face down a hundred of Loghain’s men in order to take back money that had been stolen from Denerim’s poor?”

“It was more like fifteen guards, and they hadn’t been Loghain’s.” She frowned, linking her hands behind her back. “They had worn the Howe crest.” She could almost hear the rallying song Leliana had sung as she put down a layer of suppressive fire, allowing Zevran and Moira to slip unseen behind the two closest guards, slitting their throats. Zevran’s laugh had echoed out over the guard’s shouts in the abandoned warehouse as he flitted from target to target, his daggers flashing in the torchlight. It had been a sight to behold, his movements seeming to be like an elegant yet deadly dance.

Moira hadn’t been as artistic with her kills, especially when she recognized several of the soldiers that had once been guests in her family’s home. She’d seen red when she recognized the faces of even more that had been there that night her home had been attacked. Fueled by rage, she had swung her swords, leaving a bloody path of destruction in her wake. The last man left had fallen to his knees, hands stretched out to her as he begged for mercy. His panicked screams had only been cut off as Moira’s blade swung in the air, the guard’s head toppling from his shoulders.

After securing the treasure and leaving the bodies where they lay, Moira had stumbled out of the warehouse in a daze and had been violently ill in the nearby alleyway. After all the fighting that she had done and everything she had seen, the anger-driven bloodbath that she _knew_ could have been prevented made her feel utterly disgusted with herself. Neither of her companions had commented, Leliana gently drawing her hair away as she dabbed the blood off Moira’s face with a lace-trimmed handkerchief and Zevran carefully taking Moira’s hands in his own and using his canteen to rinse her hands. Both rogues had the same grimness in their features as they cared for her, both of them understanding where she was coming from and how she had felt just then.

“Moira?” Grey eyes looked at her inquisitively and she had to fight not to flinch when his hand reached out and touched her shoulder in concern.

“The chests that the silver bars were in were still stamped with my family’s crest,” she said, her voice gone hollow. “The amount stolen from us was enough to feed the people of Highever as well as the refugees who flooded the city for the entire winter.” She would not apologize for her actions, not even to Nathaniel. “Come on,” she said, clearing her throat and trying to shake herself out the memory of that night. “We’re burning daylight.”

Nathaniel matched his pace with hers, his hand circling her wrist. He didn’t use any pressure, his grip meant to merely get her attention instead of restraining her. “You lied about the money,” he said. “You didn’t steal that from any nobleman.” He had come to terms with how she had felt about his father’s guards, knowing by the expression on her face that she hadn’t simply knocked them out cold and then plucked the stolen silver from their incapacitated hands. Had he been in her shoes and gone through the same things that she had, Nathaniel would have killed them as well. He let go of her wrist, but stayed close to her side.

Moira shrugged. “It depends on how you look at it. Those fifty sovereigns were all I had left over from my own personal coffers. Did you really think I would use the Keep’s money for this?”

His eyebrows rose. “So technically a noblewoman _is_ cursing her ill fortune right now?”

“Technically, yes. I would have liked to have used that money for armor or weapon upgrades instead. Anders might have been able to get a better staff if I hadn’t paid the man.” She eyed him. “And you need a new brace for your bow arm.” The longbow he used had also seen better days, no matter how well Nathaniel cared for it.

He looked at his left arm. The brace he wore was old, but it had served him well, protecting his arm from wrist to elbow from the slapping recoil his bow gave every time he fired an arrow. “That money would have been suited better for medicine and bandages, or a better set of blades for you,” he said. He cleared his throat and decided to lighten the mood. “So, does becoming the Dark Wolf have anything to do with the near obsession you had with everything and anything related to the Black Fox when you were a child?”

Moira blushed and shrugged again. “Perhaps. I hadn’t thought of it at the time.”

“You always did like to pretend that you were the Black Fox, much to Fergus’ irritation.” He could remember running through the forests surrounding Highever with her and Fergus, their voices shouting from the trees as they drew mission after mission from their young imaginations. “I think that was because he never got a turn to play him.”

Moira laughed, remembering. “He did wind up playing whatever noble we were stealing from an awful lot, didn’t he?”

He laughed with her, grateful that he could chase away the haunted look in her eye. “And you did like to hit him with rocks.”

“Will the two of you hurry up?” Anders asked. “Daylight. We’re wasting it.”

“You’d think that someone who complained about travelling would be hesitant to start a patrol shift,” Moira drawled.

“I have no problem with travelling,” Anders replied. “Especially when we’re supplied by horses. It’s the constant walking that gets me. My feet are delicate, you know.” Anders waited until Moira caught up with him. “Is it true that you once joined up with the Black Fox? Did you get to meet any of his men? Better yet, did you meet his lady Servana?”

Moira rolled her eyes. “The Black Fox disappeared decades ago. Even if that did happen, how old do you think he’d be?”

“You never know. Didn’t one of the tales say how he found a fountain promising eternal youth?”

“That,” Moira said, playfully nudging Anders with her shoulder, “is something my father used to tell me as a bedtime story. If something like that existed, surely we’d know about it by now.”

 “I don’t know,” Anders insisted. “Sometimes truth is stranger than fiction.”


	17. Chapter 17

“A silver for your thoughts.”

Moira looked up from the dagger she was sharpening. “Hm?”

Nathaniel put the arrow he had been inspecting in a pile with all the others he had recently finished looking over. Their supplies were decent, but he’d have to visit with the fletcher to see about getting more made, especially with the threat of darkspawn still high. “You’ve been distracted all day. Is everything all right?” After their normal patrol around the Keep, they’d decided to spend their evening in the armory, making an inventory of what weapons were housed there and what needed repairs. Nathaniel shook his head; so many of the better weapons had been looted or sold off over the years – his favorite longsword he used to ride out with among those missing. He’d left it in the armory when he left, thinking that it was safer at home than it ever would be wherever he traveled. The weapons that remained were either dull edged or of poor quality. It didn’t take the two of them very long to make piles of what needed to be simply sharpened and what was in such poor condition that it could be scrapped at the smithy and possibly used to forge new items. The armor was even worse: leather sets had scales that needed repair, metal suits were caked in dust and beginning to rust from disuse.

He’d sighed at the sad state of what had once been an impressive collection. The pieces that Moira had brought along with her during her travels helped to make the walls look a little less empty, and the magical buzzing from various enchantments was something new that none of his father’s collection had ever boasted.

Moira shook her head, bringing him out of his thoughts. “Yes, everything’s fine,” she assured him, testing the edge of the blade with her thumb and setting it aside in a tinier pile of items that she wished to use for herself out in the field. The balance was good and the blade would work well for a throwing knife instead of something that she’d ordinarily use for close quarters combat. “I’m just thinking.”

“About?” He carved a groove on the end of an arrow shaft and proceeded to attach a barbed arrowhead to the end. The fletcher would certainly be busy with his request, but Nathaniel was no slouch when it came to creating his own arrows. He’d learned how to make them as a boy as a way to keep his hands busy and mind centered. It hadn’t taken long for several of his father’s archers to come up to him and ask for arrows for their own personal stock.

Her cheeks turned a faint shade of pink and she shook her head. “Nothing. It’s silly, really.”

“It can’t be that silly if you’ve spent this much time thinking about it.” He covertly glanced at her as he worked, noticing that she was biting her lip yet again, which was a clear sign that whatever she was thinking about was bothering her.

She sighed. “I just didn’t realize how important titles were to me.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Well, Warden-Commander is a pretty impressive one.”

Moira frowned. “And the one that’s been bothering me.”

“How so?”

“Ever since I’ve arrived in Amaranthine, it’s been _Commander this_ and _Commander that_. Everyone calls me Commander, even you at times.”

“But that’s who you are.” His brow furrowed. “You’re our leader and should be given the respect that your status deserves.” And besides, every time that he did call her by her given name, someone in their group would look at him oddly, like he had committed an unforgivable sin – or in Anders’ case, that he had let slip feelings that were best left hidden. He might act as a glib and carefree mage, but Nathaniel had a hunch that Anders was nothing more than a softie with a romantic streak a mile wide.

Nathaniel had to shake his head at that. It was no secret that his and Moira’s once rocky relationship had been mended, just as it was no secret that he openly admired and cared for her now. They may not have said any sweeping declarations to one another, but he had the strong suspicion that she felt the same way about him in return.

She let out a bitter laugh. “Yes, because that’s _all_ I am. Honestly, there are days that I wish Loghain had taken the killing blow. Then I would have just been the Companion to the Hero of Ferelden instead.” She gestured to the dark green shirt and black pants she was wearing. “I wear armor and men’s clothing so often that sometimes I forget that I’m actually a woman.”

He looked incredulously at her. “You can’t be serious.” On their own accord, his eyes roved her body, pausing at the dip of her waist, the flare of her hip. Manners deeply imbedded into his brain kept his gaze from lingering over her breasts for _too_ long, his eyes going back to her face. The view was equally dangerous: underneath a thick fringe of dark lashes, large brown eyes that held flecks of green in them captured his attention and her mouth with its full red lips was utterly kissable and completely tempting.

She spread her hands. “Like I said, it was stupid. It’s just that I’ve been raised in an environment that believed well-bred women didn’t fight with swords, that ladies never let their skin turn brown from the sun, that wearing anything less than a dress at all times was something that was _just not done_.” And of course at the time she had rebelled against all of that – from running around outdoors until the sun left bleached streaks of brown in her hair and freckles over her cheeks to challenging her father’s knights to sparring matches. She thought it was incredibly ironic that when she was younger, she couldn’t wait to shed the restrictive dresses her station as the Teyrn’s daughter had her wear in favor of the freer flowing men’s clothing and armor that she trained in. Now she craved the exact opposite.

“It’s the _my lady_ that I think I miss the most,” she confessed, putting aside her whetstone. “Since the Blight ended, it’s almost as if I’ve stopped being me and have become an icon, a living legend. I don’t like it.”

“Such is the price one has to pay when they save the kingdom,” he commented.

“I know, and I am grateful that I was able to help, I really am, but…” she wrung her hands. “This sounds completely shallow, but I wish that someone would look at me like I was _me_ for once, not as a Warden or a leader, and certainly not like some mythical hero.”

Nathaniel’s laugh brought her head up. “If I didn’t know you any better, I’d say that you were fishing for compliments,” he said, going over to where she stood. “Surely a beautiful woman such as yourself wouldn’t need their ego stroked.”

She looked up at him. “Do _you_ think I’m beautiful?” she asked him.

“You honestly don’t know?” He may not have spoken the words out loud to her, but he had all but told her how he felt by actions alone. He stayed at her side and gave her a supportive ear to lean on. He took extra watches just so she could sleep a little longer when they were afield. He stared at her when she wasn’t looking, committing every line and every angle of her face to memory. He cleared his throat. “I’m not very good at words, but…”

She stopped him, standing up and putting the daggers she had been sharpening back into their glass display cases. “I know. I’m sorry to put you on the spot. Forget I said anything.” It was entirely different than hearing Teagan or Zevran hand out compliments. Arl Teagan said that she was lovely looking almost as a reflex, courtly protocol so completely imbedded into his being that such words were as natural as breathing to him. And Zevran didn’t actually count; he’d flirted outrageously with everyone during their travels that anything he said could never be taken seriously. It was suddenly very important to her to know what Nathaniel thought.

She jumped when she felt his hand at her elbow. Turning around, she swallowed hard at the scant distance he had put between them. “I never chased after a single woman while I was away,” he told her, his voice low and sounding like velvet against her skin. “Do you know why?”

Moira closed her eyes and swayed towards him.  “Why?”

He reached out and brushed his knuckles against her cheek. “None of them were you.”

The honest statement coupled with the serious look on his face took her breath away. “Oh, Nate,” she breathed, her knees dangerously close to wobbling.

“I’d like you to know that the same thing applies now as well.”

Moira blinked and tried not to shiver at the low way he had pitched his voice. She swallowed hard, trying desperately to gather her wits about her. “If that’s true, then why do you heckle Velanna so?”

He blinked, momentarily thrown by the shift in topics. “I, as you put it, heckle Velanna because she makes herself an easy target for teasing. It’s entertaining to get under her skin at times.”

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that you admired her.” The Dalish mage was attractive, even if she was just as prickly, if not more so, than Morrigan had ever been. Moira knew that she didn’t have a claim on Nathaniel any longer, but it never kept the enormous pangs of jealousy at bay whenever she overheard them talk together. “She’s rather pretty.”

By a tremendous amount of willpower, he managed not to laugh at her tone. “If you were anyone else, I’d say that you were jealous,” he gave her a lopsided smile that made her heart do a funny flip in her chest. “There is a great difference between teasing and admiring. I may tease her, but if there’s anyone here that I admire, it would be you.” He put a finger against her lips when she opened her mouth to reply. “And before you ask again, _yes_ , I do think you are beautiful, my lady.” He trailed his hand down to her arm. Slowly, he brought her hand up to his lips, looking her in the eye the entire time.

_I think my wish was just granted,_ Moira thought breathlessly, watching as Nathaniel’s eyes wandered over her body, his mouth quirking appreciatively against her knuckles. The way he was staring at her left no doubt in her mind that he saw her as anything less than a woman. If he put any more heat into his gaze, she feared that her clothes would catch fire.

Her brain caught up with her racing heart, finally noting that he had put emphasis on the word _my_ when he called her his lady. Habit had her worrying at her bottom lip, but she stopped when she heard him softly groan.

“You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?” he asked, letting go of her hand so that he could put both of his hands on her waist, his nose softly bumping against hers.

“Not intentionally,” she told him, her fingers tracing the edge of his vest. “Though I could ask the same of you.”

The chuckle that he gave her made her toes curl inside her boots. “Would you believe me if I said that I never anticipated this conversation to happen here?”

She drew in a breath when she felt his lips at her temple. “I might, but you’re definitely taking advantage of the opportunity.”

The look he gave her made the previous one seem tame. “Moira, if I were to _truly_ take advantage of the situation, you would definitely know.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead before stepping away. “But I happen to think of myself as an intelligent man. I won’t press my advantage in a room filled with sharp objects within easy reach.” He went back to where he had left his stash of unfinished arrows and gathered them up.

Moira blinked, dragging herself out of the daze Nathaniel had easily put her under. “Not even if I wanted you to?”

He stilled. “ _Do_ you want me to?” She hadn’t pushed him away yet, but she also hadn’t given him any sort of verbal confirmation that she’d want to rekindle their previous relationship.

It was his turn to jump when he felt her hand on his arm. “Nathaniel. _Nate_ ,” she began, licking her lips and looking up at him as she tried to find the right words to express how she felt about him. “I…”

“Commander!” Both of them turned sharply at the sound of a message runner knocking on the armory door. “Seneschal Varel asked if you had a moment to discuss several things with him.”

Nathaniel slowly stepped away and resumed putting up his supplies. “You should get going,” he told her, holding out his hand and gesturing to the box of throwing blades she had tucked under her arm. “I’ll make sure it gets to your room.”

“Thank you” she said, clearing her throat before addressing the page. “Please tell the Seneschal that I’ll be there shortly.”

“Yes, Commander.”

As soon as the runner was out of earshot, Moira turned back to Nathaniel. “We should finish this conversation later,” she said, pushing a strand of hair out of her face and watching as Nathaniel’s eyes tracked her movement.

Nathaniel shouldered his quiver. Smirking, he held the armory door open for her. “As you wish.”


	18. Chapter 18

“What are you reading?” The question spoken so close to her ear had Moira jumping, the manuscript in her hands snapping shut.

“Nothing!” she said, trying to hide the cover in the folds of her dress. It had been such a nice day that she had decided to take a break from paperwork and spend the afternoon reading in one of the inner courtyard gardens. It wasn’t as big as the main garden she had repurposed into an herb nursery, but it was quiet and the buildings around it dappled the edges of the courtyard in shade. The roses there were in full bloom, their perfume creating a pleasant atmosphere. Moira had easily identified them as roses grown from her own mother’s cuttings that Eleanor had given Arlessa Regina as a gift one year, making the courtyard an instant favorite of hers. “We’re going to have to institute a new rule: no sneaking on others while off-duty.”

Nathaniel smirked as he sat on the stone bench beside her, his head craned to try and read the title on the spine peeking out from under her sleeve. “It’s too thin to be one of those tawdry Orlesian romance novels my sister was so fond of reading,” he teased, his mouth working into a mischievous smile when Moira swatted his hands away. “And it’s too thick to be a letter that you’d get this worked up over me spying.” He bumped his shoulder against hers, grinning when her cheeks turned a bright scarlet. “ _Is_ it a letter? Wait, don’t tell me; it’s a passionate love missive from the king of Ferelden.”

She laughed. “The only way any letter from Alistair would be passionate in nature would be if he waxed poetic on a new shipment of cheeses. If you really must know,” she sighed and pulled the manuscript out. “It is a training manual. Yuriah had them for sale.”

“It’s a little thin to be a full training guide on the shadow arts,” Nathaniel mused, thumbing through the pages. “If you really wanted to learn, you could have just asked me.”

She smoothed an invisible wrinkle out of her skirt. “Well, I wanted to know the basics before I did.”

“I should have thought to teach you earlier. Your attack style tends to be…”

“Stealthy?”

He snorted. “I was going to say a full-frontal assault with a bit of flanking action, but we’ll go with your description if it pleases you.”

She harrumphed. “I am _too_ stealthy.”

“Yes, when sneaking around undetected, picking locks or locating traps, I’ll give you that. Unfortunately, when facing darkspawn, you tend to meet them head on. Blending into the shadows might make your job a little bit easier.”  Not to mention that certain shadow skills made enemies lose interest in their target, which would take a load off of Nathaniel’s mind. Every time Moira waded into the thick of a group of enemies, his breath always caught in his throat at the idea that she was taking on more than she could possibly handle by herself. Standing up, he held his hands out to her. “Now, what exactly do you know about the shadow arts?”

“I know that they’re an extension of stealth skills.”

“Yes. And like stealth, blending into the shadows depends on the skill level of the user.” Reaching out, he brushed his fingers over her eyes. “Keep your eyes closed until I say otherwise.”

Moira’s ears picked up the sound of his boots crunching on the gravel pathway. It seemed that he was deliberately being loud in order for her to try to pinpoint his location by sound alone. Her head turned to the right where Nathaniel’s heel made a particularly loud snapping sound on the stones.

“Open your eyes,” he said, his voice confirming where she thought he’d be. Moira blinked and turned around so that she could face him.

Except that he wasn’t there.

“Nate?” She automatically looked for any shadows that he might have hidden himself in, but saw that the center of the courtyard was in full sun. Slowly turning on her heel, she scanned the area, her eyes darting around.

“Oh, like I’m supposed to make this easy for you,” he teased, his voice coming from her left. Quickly spinning around, she thought she caught a darker looking silhouette by the garden’s entrance.

“I’d say you weren’t making it difficult enough,” she said triumphantly, going towards him. “Tag, you’re it,” she crowed, tapping him on the shoulder.

Or she would have, if her hand hadn’t gone right through.

“You were saying?” Nathaniel asked, his voice at her ear. She jumped when his hands settled on her shoulders. 

“A decoy, I should have known.” She pushed her hair out of her face and turned to face him. “So, have you finished showing off?”

He tilted his head. “For the time being. As I was saying, the user’s skill level determines the success rate of your shadow talents. We’ll start with the easiest and most important one, the shadow form.” He led her towards the deeper shadows underneath a nearby arbor’s archway. “Truthfully, this time of day isn’t the best to begin practicing, but at least we can see just where you might need work better than at night. First of all, show me your stealth mode.” He had heard Oghren and her go on and on about how sneaky she was capable of being, but he’d never actually seen it firsthand. True, she was silent and quick on her feet, but it would take a little bit more than just that if she wanted to master the moves he was willing to teach her.

Moira took a breath and held it. Leliana had taught her how to move undetected, and she’d had a lot of practice in Denerim trying to avoid guards and well-meaning folk who wanted to see the Hero of Ferelden. She slowly let the air out of her lungs and drew it back in, breathing shallowly so she wouldn’t give up her position. Sticking against the garden’s walls, she made sure her slippers didn’t make a noise on the gravel.

“Nice,” Nathaniel said, looking around the garden. “I would have never noticed you if I hadn’t been watching the entire time.”

“So, am I a suitable enough student?” she asked, coming back to where he was standing.

He smiled. “Quite. The secret to the shadow form is to attempt to blend in with the darkness around you. Find the shadows and meld with them, like so.” His expression didn’t change, but one moment he was there in front of Moira and the next he wasn’t. “The trick is to control your breathing,” he said, reappearing. “Now, you try.”

Moira stared at the shadows around them. Concentrating, she slid into her stealth position and thought about what she wanted to do. “Did it work?” she asked after a while.

He shook his head. “Not quite. I could still see your outline; try it again.”

They went back and forth for almost an hour before Moira gave up. “I don’t know what’s wrong,” she said, slumping down on the bench. “I’m doing everything you’re telling me.”

Nathaniel rubbed his chin and frowned, thinking about what his own instructors might have said.  “I think the problem is with your breathing,” he told her. “Are you certain you’re doing it shallowly enough?”

She let out an unladylike snort. “ _You_ put on a corset and then ask if I’m breathing shallowly enough,” she quipped, gesturing towards the tightly laced bodice she was wearing. She stood up and shook out her hands, ready to try again. Taking as deep of a breath as possible, she let it out on a stuttering sigh when Nathaniel’s arms went around her.

“Let’s try this again,” he murmured, one hand going to her hip while the other settled warmly at her sternum, his fingers fitting between her breasts.   The hand at her hip tightened, bringing her back flush to his front so that she was able to feel the rise and fall of his chest. “Mimic my breathing.” While this wasn’t _exactly_ how his instructor had taught him, it was the easiest way to demonstrate. _And admit it,_ he thought, _having her in your arms isn’t such a hardship, now is it?_

Moira swallowed hard and tried to find her balance. Reaching out, she put a steadying hand against the side of Nathaniel’s right thigh. “Your heart is racing,” he told her, his lips grazing the curve of her ear. He smiled when he felt her pulse jump against his palm. “Try to relax.”

She tried to think of something witty to reply with, but all her thoughts had scattered and it was impossible to retrieve them. She settled with a strangled ‘ _hrm_ ’ noise instead, which made Nathaniel quietly chuckle, the vibration going all the way down her spine. Closing her eyes, she tried to block everything out, concentrating on feeling his chest move against her back. Gradually, she made her breathing match his.

Nathaniel relaxed against her. While he had initially chosen this position as a way to flirt with Moira, the atmosphere had rapidly changed to something deeper, more intimate than he had anticipated. Their heartbeats slowed down and mirrored the other until he wasn’t sure which one was his any longer. Her head lolled to the side to rest against his chest and it felt right for him to put his chin on her shoulder, filling the space she had created. The hand she had braced on his leg moved until her fingers laced with his at her hip, and she brought their joined hands up and around to her front where he could hold her closer to him. The attraction he felt whenever he thought about her was certainly present, but instead of the sharp bite of desire, he felt something quieter, like a fire that had been carefully banked instead of being allowed to quickly burn out of control. The feeling was new to him and he embraced it, deciding to savor the moment as long as possible.

As much as he hated to, Nathaniel carefully stepped away after a while. “Congratulations,” he said, his voice sounding far too loud in the silent garden. “I do believe you’ve mastered the shadow form.”

Moira looked down at herself, noting the way that shadows had clung to her body. “I wouldn’t say that for certain,” she told him, stepping out of the shadows. “I mean, darkspawn aren’t exactly going to wait around until I get my breath under control, now are they?”

His mouth twisted upwards. “You do have a point. Perhaps we should start practicing in the evenings? As I said, this light isn’t the most ideal to train in.”

“I’d like that.” Her chest still tingled where his hand had been. “Didn’t you say you wanted to learn the dualist technique a while back?”

He nodded. “I did. Are you suggesting that you teach it to me in return?”

She winked at him. “It depends. How good are you at playing Wicked Grace?”


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm playing fast and loose with the Awakening timeframe here, mostly because I couldn't remember just when the angry mob of citizens come up to the keep's gates.

Nathaniel found her pacing on top of the battlements, one arm wrapped protectively around her middle, the other holding up the necklace she was never without. She was staring at the mirrored back as if she’d find answers to whatever questions she had, her mouth drawn into a tense, thin line. In the torchlight, Nathaniel could see that she hadn’t taken the time to go and get out of her field gear; her armor was still darkly stained with darkspawn blood just as his own was.

“You handled that well,” he said, leaning against the wall hands tucked behind his back. They’d just returned to the Keep after encountering a large pocket of enemies when their party had been confronted by a mob of angry citizens at the gate demanding their fair share of grain. Moira had been worn out, but Nathaniel noted that she had still managed to carry herself with her usual amount of grace and poise, quietly dispersing the would-be mob before it could truly form.

“Did I?” She let the necklace settle back against her skin and crossed her arms her fingers digging into her elbows. “There was almost a riot in the courtyard.”

“That you put a stop to before it even began.”

She frowned. “Those people should have never even had a reason to gather in the first place. All they wanted was grain; why weren’t the granaries opened sooner?” She thought back to Alec, the shepherd who she’d conscripted into the army when he was caught stealing food for his family. “These poor people are starving.”

Nathaniel went up to her and carefully pried her hands away from her arms. “There’s not much you can do,” he told her, his hands uncurling her fingers from the fists she clenched them in.

“I am their _Arlessa_ , for Andraste’s sake. There is _plenty_ that I could have done before it got this bad.” Anger flashed in her eyes and Nathaniel knew from experience that it was directed towards herself.

“Ah, yes. Because you could control two growing seasons since the Blight ended or how the previous Arl managed the surplus stock. Or, since you’ve only recently become Arlessa that means that you’re instantly able to make the lands fertile or control the rain for this season alone.” He rubbed his thumbs against the backs of her hands. “Tell me, as slayer of an Archdemon, have you the power to magically fill the grain silos by merely waving your hand? If you do, then you’ve cleverly hidden that ability from everyone.”

Moira sighed, her shoulders slumping in defeat. “You know how to pull the wind out of a good temper tantrum, don’t you?”

He shrugged. “It’s one of my many talents.” Settling his hands on her shoulders, he held her out at arm’s length. “You have been doing as much as you possibly can with the few resources you have at your disposal. Look what you’ve done in these few months: trade is starting to flow again, the farms and roads are being guarded from lingering darkspawn, there are previously undiscovered ore deposits at hand, and you’re upgrading the Keep’s walls, which has been needed for generations.”

“It’s just that I wish I could do more for people,” she told him. “I feel so powerless.” She’d had many a sleepless night since coming to Vigil’s Keep. If dreams of darkspawn didn’t keep her awake, then the images of hungry children did, their cheeks hallowed out as they begged for food, their skeletal hands holding onto her skirts.

Nathaniel tugged her towards him, his arms going around her. “You put too much on yourself sometimes,” he said, his cheek against her hair. He ran his hands down her back in soothing circles, heedless of the gore that streaked both of their armor. “You don’t always have to play the hero, you know.”

Moira sighed. “I know. It’s just that after spending so long fixing other people’s problems while I traveled, I don’t know how else to act now.” She wrapped her arms around his waist and settled comfortably in his arms. “Not that I don’t appreciate the gesture, but what was this for?”

He tucked a stray hair behind her ear. “You looked like you needed it.” Giving her a lopsided smile, he added “and besides, I hate to see you unhappy.”

“It could have been much worse,” she confessed, melting against him when his fingers worked at a knot at the base of her skull. “There could have been bloodshed.”

“You’re right. And now that the farmers have had their say, you’ve proven to everyone that you’re willing to listen to conflicts fairly and deal with them in a just fashion. You’ve also sent troops out to protect their lands, which goes a long way in developing their trust.”

“What would you have done differently?” Hearing Nathaniel try to cheer her on just made her more aware that he should have been in charge instead of her. Even though her father had trained both her and her brother to take over the teyrnir, Nathaniel had spent his childhood and subsequent early adulthood being trained to take over this specific arling. Even though he’d been away, he still knew the land and the people far better than she did. Moira often found herself looking to him for advice before she went to Varel, the two of them spending hours together with their heads together as they worked through petitions and a backlog of paperwork that had taken a backseat once the Blight had hit.

“Nothing. Having the guard try to calm the crowd down would have only incited tempers and giving out seemingly empty promises would have done the same. You did the right thing.”

She hugged him tighter. “Thank you. You don’t know how much I appreciate that.”

Her admission shouldn’t have made his heart swell as much as it had. “Well, my lady, what are we going to do next?”

“I can write to the Bannorn, ask for aid,” she mused, her hand resting on his chest. “With Alistair there now, he might be able to help out.” The area had quickly bounced back from the Blight, and weather had been favorable for growing crops. If she recalled correctly from the reports at the palace, there was a small surplus of produce to be had. Perhaps she could trade food for resources, or get with Mistress Woolsey and see if they had any money in their coffers to spend on purchasing what they needed outright. There were also the supplies at the Keep. Surely they didn’t need all of what was in their vast larders – she could organize a party to donate what they could spare to the Chantry for distribution in the city. She knew that if she paid too much attention to the farmlands and not enough to Amaranthine, she might have yet another riot on her hands at a later date. Highever might be another option. She didn’t know the exact numbers in the brother’s grain stores, but it wouldn’t hurt to ask and see if he could spare anything. While the castle had been taken over nearly two years ago, the town below had been left relatively intact. Hopefully Fergus would have things to spare. She was reluctant to ask for guards instead of food, seeing as the number of soldiers under his employ was as low as hers, if not lower.

“I can see the gears turning,” Nathaniel said, tapping at her temple with his index finger. “Care to elaborate?”

“Nothing quite yet,” she admitted. “I’m just thinking that it is taking considerably more work rebuilding Ferelden from the Blight than it had in saving it. You would think that it would have been the other way around instead.”

“That’s because you can’t whack protesters with pointy objects,” Nathaniel said, stepping away. “Come on, let’s get down from here. It looks like it might rain.” He started towards the stairway leading back down to the lower levels of the Keep, but Moira’s hand on his arm stopped him.

“I meant what I said, Nathaniel,” she told him. “I don’t think I could have done any of this without you. Thank you for being here.”

He gave her a crooked grin and held onto her hand. “What can I say? We make a good team.”

She looked up at him, the smile on her face reminding him of the ones she used to give him so long ago, warming him from the inside out. “That we do.”


	20. Chapter 20

Moira raised her knuckles to Nathaniel’s door to knock, but hesitated before her knuckles could hit the wood. _Is this a good idea,_ she wondered, second guessing herself as she looked at the bow she had propped up against the wall. She’d discovered it in a sack in the basement and she had intended to immediately give it to him once she realized who it may have belonged to, but it was late; Nathaniel might already be asleep, especially after the day that they had. She shivered, just thinking about what they had gone through only hours ago. The basement tunnels leading to the Deep Roads hadn’t been teeming with darkspawn, but she could sense more further on down past the doors they had sealed to protect the Keep. Oghren had made light of the situation, telling her that it felt like old times to be back underground, but she had hated it, her skin crawling as the pull of darkspawn gnawed at her chest. After they came back, she had spent much of the evening outside, just enjoying the feel of the wind in her face and trying to erase the memory of walls that felt as if they would close in on them at any given moment.

Velanna had done much the same, except she had gone past the walls of the Keep and out into the forests beyond. By the time Moira had come down from the battlements, she had still not returned. Yet where Oghren had been right at home and she and Velanna had been claustrophobic, Nathaniel had been oddly silent. In fact, he hadn’t shown any sign of distress save for his observation that the Keep seemed to be situated atop crumbling foundations.

Biting her bottom lip, Moira took a breath to gather her courage and knocked. “Enter,” Nathaniel barked out from behind the door. Moira thought that he sounded irritated, so she left the bow out in the hallway. His gift could wait for another day, depending on his mood.

“Oh,” he said, looking up from the fireplace. “I thought you’d gone to bed already.” He was shirtless, and a quick glance told Moira he had just finished bathing, if the damp towel hanging on the rim of the tub shoved close to the fireplace was anything to go by.

“I couldn’t sleep.” She’d tried, but every time she shut her eyes, she caught a glimpse of the spirit that had been imprisoned under the Keep for who knew how long. Darkspawn had been bad enough, but dealing with a demon and a mass of undead so soon after was enough to fuel a few sleepless nights for her.

His mouth quirked upwards. “I should have known.” He gave a brief thought to tossing on a shirt, but then he caught on to the subtle way that Moira’s eyes were looking over him and he decided to indulge in a little bit of vanity. Maker knew that he needed something pleasant to occupy his mind after the day they’d had. “So, that was the Deep Roads?”

She twisted her hands together. “A very small portion, yes.”

“It gets worse the further you go in, doesn’t it?” He was talking about the sickening pull at the center of his chest, and he knew that Moira understood what he was talking about when she nodded, her hand going to her sternum. “How did you manage going past the Deep Trenches?”

She looked up at him. “How did you know about that?” Moira had been filling him in on her travels during the Blight whenever they had time, but she hadn’t had a chance to get to the Deep Roads portion just yet.

“Oghren talks when you supply him with enough alcohol.” He shrugged. “Oghren talks even when you _don’t_ , but he tends to say more when one is in his good graces.”

Her fingers unconsciously went to her right arm. It wasn’t very noticeable – Wynne’s healing magic had taken care of that worry – but there was a slightly raised portion of skin where the Broodmother in the Deep Trenches had splashed her with acidic vomit. Her gorge rose as she remembered the stench of her flesh burning, how the pain had been so intense that the only thing keeping her upright had been the massive dose of adrenaline running through her system. “I’m surprised he would mention that; we fought his wife there.” Branka’s obsession with the Anvil had led her to destroy her entire house. Moira had never approved of that; had their places been reversed, Moira would have ventured out into the Deep Roads alone before subjecting her people to the horrors that awaited them. “I think today’s trip unnerved him a little more than he realized. Oghren’s usual way of coping with things that bother him is to either plow through them or ignore them completely.” It would account for the forced way he had acted, boasting that it was just like old times a little too much while killing darkspawn with even more violence than he usually employed.

“I think this visit unnerved everyone, myself included.”

“You were bothered?” She hugged her arms. “You could have fooled me.”

He shrugged. “I tried to hide it. You didn’t need to worry about me when you had everything else on your mind.” He turned back to the fireplace, his hands braced against the mantle. His arm tensed when he felt her hand on his bicep.

“Alistair and I managed the Deep Trenches _because_ we told the other how scared we were. Next time, let me know. We’ll get through it better together.”

His hand went up and covered hers. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said, turning so that he was facing her. Moira stared, all too aware of the play of firelight and how it cast shadows over his body while highlighting various muscles that her fingers itched to touch.

“I have something for you,” she said quickly, forcing herself not to ogle. “I left it outside.” She was suddenly thankful that she had, because the way that he was looking at her had made her want to do something foolish, like jump into his arms and kiss him senseless. Retrieving the item gave her an opportunity to gather the wits he had an uncanny talent for scattering.

“Is that what I think it is?” he asked once she came back into the room with the bow in her hands. His eyes widened in recognition. “It is, look! There’s the Howe crest burned into the wood!”

“I found it in a sack in the basements,” she explained.

“I don’t know why it would have been there, the last time I saw it was when it had been in the storage room.” He hefted it in his hands, testing the weight and balance, a beaming smile breaking out across his face. “This is my grandfather’s bow.”

“The one that went to the Wardens?” Moira remembered him talking about a grandfather that had joined their order, but had never returned to the family.

“That’s the one. Actually, this wasn’t _his_ bow; it was made for another family member during the Exalted Marches.” The string would need replacing, but the nock tips were in excellent condition. His fingers ran over the wood, trying to find any cracks or warped areas, but everything was perfectly intact. “This was made to last; I’m certain that with a little care, it can still be used today.”

“It’s yours now, if you want it,” she said, smiling at the way he focused on his inspection. “There was also a leather quiver that was in the same bag, but I left that in my room.”

Very carefully, Nathaniel leaned the bow against the overstuffed chair he’d moved by the fireplace. “You’ve given me so many gifts recently,” he said. “First the lock picking tools, then the bronze sextant.”

“I thought you might need those,” she said, twisting a lock of hair in her fingers. “They both serve practical uses.”

“And what practical use do I have for the painted skyball or the vase?” She’d gifted him with the vase bearing his family’s mark just the other day, saying that she’d found it for sale in the market and had thought of him.

She blushed. She’d carried around the skyball since finding it in the Brecilian forest during the Blight, memories of the evenings over the years that they would sneak out of either Highever or Vigil’s Keep to stargaze. Watching the night sky was a flimsy excuse to curl up in the other’s arms, but it had gotten them past the guards or others that had come across their path without any trouble. “I thought you might appreciate it,” she mumbled, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth.

“Moira.” He tipped her chin up with his fingers, making her look up at him. “My point is that you’ve gifted me – all of us, actually – with so many things, but you’ve never asked for anything in return.”

“That’s not why I do it,” she told him, vaguely aware that she was slowly backing up towards the wall. “I do it because it makes me happy to see everyone enjoy their gifts.”

“And yet I think you deserve more than a simple _this is nice_ or _I’ve always wanted one of these_ from me.” He reached out and bracketed his hands against the wall on either side of her head. “For once I’d like to give you something.”

“It isn’t necessary,” she whispered, her breath hitching when he leaned in, his chest brushing against her breasts. Rational thought flew out of her head and she arched her back ever so slightly, teasing a groan out of Nathaniel, even as the move made her bite her lip to smother a gasp.

“You have no idea how maddeningly attractive that is,” he murmured, his thumb stroking her bottom lip.

Her eyes shut on their own accord. “Maddeningly?”

“Incredibly. It constantly drives me to distraction.” He leaned in even further, his mouth at her ear. “It makes me wish to be the one biting your lip instead.” He punctuated his declaration with a nip to her earlobe, which made Moira’s knees turn to water.

Holding onto his sides to keep her balance, she tipped her head. “You have quite the way of saying thank you,” she gasped, her nails gently raking across his ribs as he trailed his mouth down from her ear to the column of her throat. His back was hot under her hands and she couldn’t get enough of the feel of bare skin at her fingertips.

He smirked against her collarbone. “You should see how I say _thank you very much_.”

She let out a nervous bubble of laughter that turned into a moan at the feel of his teeth closing around the skin where her neck met her shoulder. She draped her arms over his shoulders, her mouth opening on a silent gasp when his hands dragged over her shirt to settle at her waist, his thumbs slowly running circles across the undersides of her breasts. “Nate,” she sighed, shifting so her leg could wrap around his. He murmured something unintelligible against her skin, but his hands moved from her waist to round against her backside, grabbing her firmly to press her close to him as his mouth found hers.

Kissing Nathaniel was like taking a deep breath of air after living in stifling conditions for eight years. With a little moan of need, she threaded her fingers through his hair and slanted her head to deepen their kiss. In return, Nathaniel clutched her to him, one hand sliding up on her back and the other down to grasp the back of her knee and hitch her that much tighter against him. Moira’s nails scraped against his scalp when his tongue reacquainted itself with the edges of her teeth, then as he made good on his promise when he nipped at her bottom lip. She felt herself go slack in his arms and was grateful when one of his hands went to the back of her head, otherwise she might have hurt herself when she used the wall she was leaning against as leverage to press herself even that much closer to him. He all but growled out her name, thrusting his thigh between her legs and kissing her hard enough to bruise.

A memory from the Deep Trenches decided to bubble up from the back of her mind just then of another time she had been similarly shaken by the presence of darkspawn. Of all times to think of Alistair, she had a distinct flashback of how after reaching Orzammar safely, the two of them had clung to the other, if only to assure themselves that they had survived the ordeal. While Moira and Alistair had only platonically embraced as friends, she and Nathaniel…

Moira blinked, coming back to her right mind. She turned her head away, Nathaniel’s lips scoring her cheek instead of their intended target. “I have to go,” she said, her voice throaty. She slid her hands around him until she was able to softly push against his chest, giving her enough space to think without the tempting scent of soap and leather and something distinctly _male_ that clung to him fogging her senses. Doubt slammed into her gut; what if what they were feeling wasn’t a continuation from so long ago, but just something they were both going through to drive away the fear and discomfort they had felt? She knew her heart and she knew that they had been decidedly familiar with the other ever since clearing the air between them, but she was too afraid to ask if he felt the same just now.

He sighed, but moved aside a step. “Running away?” he asked, his voice a low rumble that did absolutely terrible things to Moira’s body.

Swallowing hard, she shook her head. “Tactical retreat,” she replied thickly, turning and heading towards the door.

“Is it a permanent strategy?” He hoped not. Raking his fingers through his still damp hair, he fought to stay where he was, seeing that distance was what Moira wanted at the moment. He’d regained so much ground in these past weeks that he’d hate to lose it all over one misstep. Yet kissing her…he swallowed. Kissing her again after so long made him feel as if some important piece of him that had long since been missing had finally been put back into place.

She opened the door. “Only a temporary one.”

“How temporary?”

She worried her lip, now noticing how his eyes zeroed in on her mouth. “Ask me again later,” she told him. Using the speed she usually employed on the battlefield, she swooped in and pressed her lips against his for a quick, chaste kiss. She was gone before he could react, her footsteps echoing down the hall.

He peered down the hallway, the taste of her still lingering on his lips and wondering what had caused her to leave so abruptly. He had been standing at the fire before she had knocked on his door, wishing for some sort of human contact to erase the pull of darkspawn that had made his skin crawl. When she had arrived, all he had wanted to do was bury his face in her hair and hold her close, if only to keep the nightmares that were certain to arrive that night at bay.

Exhaling, he leaned his head against the doorframe. “Well, _that_ explains it,” he said, his mouth tugging into a sardonic smile. At least _one_ of them had seen what that sudden flash of need had been. He sighed. There _had_ been a growing tension between them since…he frowned. He knew that the attraction he felt towards her had carried over from those years ago, just as he knew seeing her in this new light and slowly relearning who she was and discovering the woman Moira had turned into had only strengthened the love he had for her. He knew his heart, and he could only hope that she felt the same for him.

He was about to curse his ill timing for ruining any future chances he might have with Moira when her words finally sank in. “Ask her again later,” he mused, turning back towards his bedroom. His eyes fell on the bow she had returned to him. He hadn’t been lying when he said he wished to give Moira something in return for all the gifts she had given him. Picking up the bow, he carefully placed it on the weapons stand he had set up near his bed. It felt good to have something of his family that he could be proud of, and it felt even better knowing she had been the one to give it to him. As far as he knew, they weren’t going to be heading out any time soon, Moira deciding that she was going to wait to hear from scouts they had sent out and wanting to stick in one place to see if the man impersonating the Dark Wolf had dug up any information for her. It would give him ample time to go into town and find the dagger set he had seen Moira eye appreciatively before turning aside and using her money to purchase an armor upgrade for Oghren. Nathaniel admitted that knives might not be the most popular of courtship gifts to give a woman, but they were practical and he was certain she would appreciate the gesture.

Besides, there would be plenty of time for gifts of the romantic variety later on.


	21. Chapter 21

“Do you know what this goes to?” Moira asked, holding out a key. Nathaniel looked up from the book he had been reading, noting that her hair and her plain work clothes were covered in dust.

“What have you been doing?” he asked her, reaching out and brushing a cobweb away from her shoulder. “And what was our rule about no sneaking?” Even as dusty as she was, she had managed to come up behind him without him noticing.

She smiled unapologetically. “Sorry, habit. But to answer your question, I’ve been cleaning.”

“I can see that. And just where did you manage to get so filthy, milady dust bunny? ”

Moira sat down beside him, her fingers brushing off a bit of dirt from her tunic. “Your father’s study.” The room had been sealed ever since the Blight, and it had shown. During the first months of Alistair’s reign, he had ordered that nothing of Rendon’s personal papers there be touched until either he or Moira had a chance to go through them personally. After a while, more important matters, such as caring for the shell shocked people of Ferelden and rebuilding lost cities like Lothering took precedence and the task was forgotten. Moira had been using Nathaniel’s mother’s sitting room as her office, but while the wall of windows let in a considerable amount of sunlight and made for a cheerful area to curl up with a book, it was a tad bit impractical for someone who currently had a death threat on their head. The many windows provided archers with too many opportunities to strike.

And as much as she was dreading it, she realized that Rendon’s study was the perfect spot to use as an office, which was probably what the original owners of Vigil’s Keep had intended it for. While the two thin windows didn’t offer much in the way of light, at least they let a decent breeze blow in when the glass was opened and were on a side protected by the interior courtyard. The layout of the room was long and narrow and offered little in the way of hiding spots for assassins: a large fireplace and mantel took up one of the shorter walls. Two high backed chairs were situated near the hearth, their dark hunter green fabric worn from the generations of Howes who sat in them. Bookshelves lined nearly the entire long wall on one side; Moira hadn’t gotten around to reading their spines yet, but several of the heavier tomes looked like copies of laws and regulations that she knew resided in her own father’s library. She and Mistress Woolsey had made a decent dent in clearing away the dust, but were disheartened by what paperwork they had found. Precisely organized ledgers with Amaranthine’s finances had been discovered, which gave them both a better idea of how the money in the treasury had been used, but the numbers didn’t match what was in the coffers. Moira distinctly remembered being present while Rendon had delivered a summary of the arling’s financial situation that _did_ match the carefully crafted numbers in the books, yet like the one or two good farms that Howe would have shown her father to assure him that all was right in the land, it seemed as if here was another instance of his betrayal.

The realization that her father had unknowingly turned a blind eye on the people of Amaranthine simply because he trusted his closest friend to rule as well as he himself would rule made Moira sad. She knew that her father had not been perfect, but to see such glaring mistakes for herself and know at what cost the people of Amaranthine had paid for both Rendon’s greed and Bryce’s inactions…she vowed that she’d do better.

Moira had to admit it, when she first found out that the Wardens had sent her a treasurer instead of more Wardens, she had been disappointed. Yet Mistress Woolsey was proving to be a force to be reckoned with. The woman had a fearless way of cutting through fudged numbers and working with what they had in their vault that was on the same level as anyone that Moira had ever fought alongside of. If anything, her presence here at the Keep was going to help build the arling back to the prosperous shipping community it had once been.

“I hadn’t known it was that bad,” Nathaniel noted, picking out another wad of cobweb from the back of Moira’s hair. He looked at the key in her hand. “That goes to my father’s safe.”

She frowned. “I haven’t found anything that even remotely looks like a safe yet.”

He grinned. Standing up, he pulled on her hands until she was on her feet as well. “That’s because you didn’t know where to look. Come on, I’ll show you.” 

His father’s study was just as he remembered it. He could remember that as a child he had often sat near the fireplace, reading book after book while his father worked at his desk. _One day, my son,_ his father had often said, _all of this will be yours._ Even at a young age, Rendon had sat Nathaniel on his lap, explaining just what the little numbers in each of the ledgers he kept meant and how important it was to distribute them equally between everything. “Here,” Nathaniel said, shaking himself out of his memories. He went over to the long wall that housed portraits of the previous Arls and took his father’s frame off the wall. “The safe is always behind the current Arl’s portrait,” he explained. “We’re going to have to shift everyone to make room for yours, once things quiet down.”

“I hadn’t even thought to look here,” Moira said, examining the back of the picture’s frame. The backs of each frame were thicker than the front and painted to match the existing stone, making it impossible at first glance to see that they were covering up anything.

Nathaniel fit the key into the lock and listened as it clicked open. “There’s something in here,” he said, reaching into the safe to retrieve its contents. “Something that I wasn’t expecting.”

“Do you know what’s inside there?” Moira looked over his arm. The safe wasn’t very large: it was probably a square hole cut into the stone about two feet all around, so it couldn’t contain much.

“I know for sure that we’ll find the deed to the lands of Amaranthine, a box of the most expensive Howe family gems, as well as several important correspondences from your family to mine. But this,” he pulled out a thick leather-bound book. “This has me stumped.”

Moira had already taken the rest of the safe’s items back to the desk in order to inventory them. “Go ahead and open it,” she said over her shoulder. “Between the two of us, you have a right to read it first.”

Nathaniel frowned when he saw his father’s bold script stare at him. “It looks to be a diary of some sorts,” he said, reading the first few paragraphs. Still reading, he walked to the desk and absently sat in the chair. The smell of polishing wax and leather surrounded him, just like it had when he was a child. “I can’t believe this.”

“What is it?” Moira leaned back on the desk, her right knee touching his.

He shook his head. “I…this is my father’s personal journal.” His forehead furrowed in disbelief as he pointed to a date towards the back pages of the book. “Even as long as five years ago, Father was planning on betraying everyone.”

Moira watched as Nathaniel’s face contorted in fury.  "Do I even want to know?"

“Would you believe me if I told you that I’d been promised to someone for years without even knowing it?” he bit out, his fingers tightening on the heavy paper.

“ _What?_ To _whom_?” For a moment she thought that perhaps Rendon _had_ known about them and was prepared to speak to her father about drawing up a marriage contract.

The sharp bark of laughter he gave out was completely humorless and killed the hope that had briefly bloomed in her breast. “To Anora Mac Tir, of all people.”

“But that’s…” She shook her head. “She’d been married to Cailan at the time your father wrote this.” Moira felt as if her breath had been knocked out of her and she leaned heavier on the desk, her mind frantically trying to process just what that meant.

“It gets worse,” he said, reading further, his nostrils flaring in anger. “It seems that you were promised to my brother.”

“To _Thomas_?” Sure, she had thought it odd that Rendon would always mention his youngest son whenever they spoke, but she’d _never_ seen him as a potential match for her.

His reply was sharp and bitter. “Do you know of any _other_ brother I might have?” He set the journal aside and took a breath, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to bite at you. You do realize what this means?”

She nodded. “That even before the Blight, Rendon had aspired to take the throne from Cailan.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Do you think that Loghain knew about this?”

Nathaniel shook his head. “No. Father wrote that he had _planned_ on broaching the subject with him, but the timing was never right.”

“It’s common knowledge amongst the nobility that Anora was the one ruling the kingdom instead of the other way around, and it looked like your father was doing his best to set you up as the next king.” It sounded so surreal to say. “He sent you away…”

“To broaden my political horizons,” Nathaniel finished, sneering book before picking it up and throwing it across the room where it hit the wall with a heavy thud. “The knight who housed me was one of the more influential people in the Free Marches. He spent many hours tutoring me in the ways of ruling the land and dealing with politics. At first, I thought that was what all young men who squired under him were put through, but now it makes much more sense.” He ran his hand down his face. “Maker, but Thomas was right. I should have listened to him.”

“What do you mean?”

He frowned. “Thomas came to me when Mother left Amaranthine years ago. He was drinking at the time, and I dismissed his warnings as merely drunken rambling.” Now it made sense to him. “He said that he had overheard Father speaking to someone about him inheriting the arling.”

_I’m so sorry, Nathaniel. I’m so sorry that it all has to come about this way._

“Thomas spoke highly of you, that last time in Denerim,” Moira said quietly. “He told me that he hadn’t known the extent of his father’s plans, that if he had, he would have tried his best to put a stop to them.”

Nathaniel’s frown deepened. “He would have gotten himself killed, that’s what he would have done.  Father made no secret that he didn't love him, it wouldn't have been a stretch to see him using murder as a way of silencing Thomas. No, _I_ should have thought something was amiss. I should have come home that very instant to see things with my own eyes.”

“It’s no use blaming yourself. How could you have known what your father was planning? Rendon was clever; he hid his deception from those that thought they knew him the best. It would have been easy for him to deceive you as well.” Moira went over and picked up the book from where it had fallen, quickly skimming over the last few entries to see if her father’s name was mentioned. Her breath caught at a paragraph with her father’s name in it; it was a vague threat, but clear enough to tell her that Rendon had intended on killing the entire Cousland family as long as five years ago. _We’ll invite Moira to the Keep to visit Delilah,_ it read. _It won’t take much to convince her that someone else had done the deed – perhaps an uprising in Highever’s alienage will be enough. Regina’s bastard child knows nothing of politics, yet despite the fact that I’ve abhorred Bryce’s decision to train his brats as equals, at least in the end the Cousland girl will be worth something to Amaranthine._ “I’d have been so grief stricken that I would have believed any lie he thought up,” she muttered, setting the book aside and covering her mouth with her hands.

“This plan of his wouldn’t have worked,” Nathaniel told her gripping the chair’s armrests until his knuckles turned white. “I would have found out eventually and then had the power to bring him to justice.”

“Don’t you understand? He _knew_ that. With you as King, Delilah married off to a suitable Bann, and Thomas poised act as Amaranthine’s Arl – as well as wedded to the last of the Couslands, who were politically influential in their own right – he knew that even if he should be sentenced to death for his crimes, his children and his lands would be well taken care of.” Moira didn’t mention Rendon’s accusation that Thomas hadn’t been his, but it would make many of the rumors that had flown out after Arlessa Regina’s departure sound more believable, not to mention rationalize how Moira herself had seen what a loveless marriage the two of them seemed to have and how it had impacted their three children over the years.

“And if I hadn’t put two and two together, he would have molded me into whatever he wished, ruling from behind the scenes while Anora and I played our parts.” He frowned. “He would have turned me into an exact copy of himself.”

“He wouldn’t have been able to.”

“No? What makes you think that he hasn’t already?”

“Because you are a good man, Nathaniel. You see when things are wrong and do your best to set them to rights. For as long as I’ve known you, you’ve always been that way. If your father would have changed that, I would have known.” She bit her lip and looked away, trying to find how to word the thoughts that were flying around her head. “I think that your father honestly wanted what he thought was best for his children, even if the means to achieving that meant doing the things that he did.”

Nathaniel stared at his father’s portrait, trying to find some answers that made sense. “Of all the people to defend him, I never thought that _you_ would.”

She shook her head. “I’m not defending his actions, Nate. I’m…”

“You’re what?” He felt like he had to do _something_. The room that had once offered so much comfort to him in his youth was now stifling and claustrophobic.

She cupped the sides of his face with her hands. “You said that he once had a good side. I guess what I’m trying to do is to protect that memory from being eaten away by what you’re feeling now.”

Nathaniel closed his eyes. It was hard, but he took the memories of the father who had scooped his children up on his shoulders for rides, who read stories to them at bedtime and tucked it safely away from everything that he had learned since coming back so that his actions wouldn’t taint the little boy Nathaniel had once been or the admiration he had once felt. _Draw the bowstring back like this._ He could all but feel his father’s hands on his arms as he had showed him the proper stance when he had been presented with his first bow on his fifth name day. _Not bad for your first attempt, my boy. You will get better with practice._ The naked pride in his father’s voice felt like bitter ashes on his tongue now. There _had_ been good to him, before Thomas’ birth. It was around that time that Rendon had distanced himself from his children, the once freely given praise all but stopping except for times when Nathaniel felt he had to work extra hard and be extra good to receive any type of affection. The lessons had stopped around then as well, his father’s hands correcting his stance being replaced with a tutor’s.

Reaching out, he wrapped his arms around Moira’s waist and dragged her close to him so that he could rest the side of his face against her midsection. “It wouldn’t have worked,” he said again, his voice sounding as ragged as his emotions felt. “I would have fought him. I wouldn’t have given you up as easily as he thought I would have.”

Moira’s breath fluttered against his hair and she bent to press a kiss to the crown of his head. “I never would have married Thomas,” she told him, her hands tightening on his shoulders. “I…” _I loved you too much to give up just like that._

His hands splayed over the small of her back. “I would have given the throne over to Anora. I would have come for you.” He looked up at her and said what she had been afraid to. “I loved you far too much to just conform to that man’s desire for power.” _And I love you still; I’m not going to let you slip away from me now._

Moira hands trembled on his shoulders and she didn’t protest when he pulled her into his lap. “Believe me, _please_ ,” he whispered against her lips, his hands threading through her hair at her temples. She didn’t answer with words, but leaned forward to kiss him. He groaned against her mouth and held onto her as if she were a lifeline. She did the same, her fingers clutching at his shirt. _If only this book had been found sooner_ , she thought, shifting in his lap to hold him easier. Her family could have been warned, Nathaniel might have been came back earlier, things might have happened differently. She smoothed her hands across his back, trying to give some sort of comfort even as she took what solace he offered.

She broke the kiss first, pressing her cheek against Nathaniel’s. “Rivain,” she said quietly against his hair.

“What?”

“We would have run off to Rivain and lived like we wished.”

His hand stroked her leg, his fingers running in idle circles over her kneecap. “I was thinking Orlais. That would have _really_ stuck in Father’s craw.” He brushed his nose against hers. “It might be a bit closer to Ferelden, but we could have lived in sin and eaten chocolate to our hearts’ content.”

She laughed and tightened her arms around him. “It doesn’t matter what that letter says,” she finally said, resting her head on his shoulder. “What matters is what we’re doing now.”

“You’re right.” There was a pause, Nathaniel’s cheek pressing against the side of her head. “Do you really think I’m a good man?” The question was asked so quietly that Moira had to strain to hear.

“I don’t think. I _know_.” She leaned back until she could look him in the eye. “I wouldn’t have agreed to spend the rest of my life with you back then if you were anything less.”

He stroked her cheek with the backs of his fingers. “I never got around to asking you properly.” He had planned it all out, how he would have asked for her hand. He looked away. Funny, how things never worked out the way that his family planned them to.

“I still would have said yes.” She wanted to tell him that should he ask her now, she _still_ would say yes, but he put his index finger to her lips before she could open her mouth.

“Do what you want with the rest of the things in the safe, but burn the book,” he said, switching topics abruptly. He was too emotionally drained from the afternoon’s discovery that he wasn’t sure he could deal with anything more complicated, especially when it came to the relationship he was trying to cultivate with her now.

She nodded. Rendon Howe’s name was already ruined. Bringing one more damning piece of evidence to light after the fact was overkill. But still…Moira slid out of his lap and opened the book to skim the first few pages. It had been written by a man in much happier times. _This_ was the man who Nathaniel should hold onto, not the monster he had become. Flipping through the book, she tore out the worst of the entries and touched them to the candle burning in the silver candelabra atop the desk. Holding the burning pieces of paper as long as she could, she set it into the empty fireplace and they both silently watched as the paper curled in on itself until nothing was left but a small pile of ashes.

Moira turned back to the desk. Nathaniel had slumped in the chair, his long legs stretched out in front of him. _He looks like he belongs there,_ she thought. _This should have been his office._ “You should keep the rest,” she said quietly, looking at what was left of Rendon’s journal.

He nodded, but didn’t make a move to reach for the book on the corner of the desk. “What now?” he asked, scrubbing his hand over his face.

“Well,” Moira started, carefully picking up the items on the desk and placing them back into the wall safe. She locked it and pocketed the key. “I am going to finish cleaning this office tonight and then reward myself with a long, hot soak.” She put the portrait back on the wall, tapping the edge until it sat level with the others. “And then in the morning I’m going to go into Amaranthine and see if our Ser Wolf has found any information on those conspirators.”

“That wasn’t what I meant,” he said, folding his hands over his stomach and stacking his feet atop the desk. He’d never been allowed to do so before - hadn’t _dreamed_ of doing something so improper - so he decided to indulge his rebellious streak.

“I know it isn’t,” she replied, rounding the chair and draping her arms around his neck from behind. “I’d ask you to refrain from brooding, but I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t find the look strangely attractive.” She kissed his cheek for good measure.

He reached up and held onto her forearms. “I do not…” he paused and tilted his head up to look at her. “You find brooding attractive?”

She shrugged. “Not on everyone, but I’ll make an exception for you.” Her thumb rubbed against the collar of his shirt. “As I said before, we can’t change what’s already happened, so there isn’t any sense in dwelling on it. I’d rather keep focus on events that haven’t happened yet instead.”

He took a deep breath and let it out through his nose. “You’re right.” He was silent for a while before taking Moira’s hand in his and bringing her knuckles up to his lips. “So, this trip that you’re planning into town tomorrow. Did you want any company?”

She smiled. “I wouldn’t mind. I’d thought that I’d make a visit to Delilah’s home. I remember that Oriana’s pregnancy left her queasy the first few months into it and I thought I’d bring your sister some tea that had helped Oriana as well as some ginger I’d just finished candying the other day in case she was suffering the same symptoms. I’d like it if you came with me.”

“I’d like that very much.” It was the first time that he’d heard Moira talk about his sister, and he hoped that it wouldn’t be the last. The last time he spoke with her, Delilah had been so worried that Moira would hate her. The two of them had been close once and it lifted his spirits to hear Moira make some strides in renewing that friendship.

“While we’re in town, we still need to find some more information about this Colbert person Captain Garevel was talking about. And then there’s the matter of the Blight Orphans and…” Moira sighed, rubbing her forehead with her free hand. “Is that offer to run off to Orlais still good?”

Standing up, he wrapped his arms around her. “Only if you wish to live in sin and eat chocolate every day.”

She relaxed against his chest. “I happen to like chocolate.” Pushing her hair out of her eyes, she looked around at what was left to clean. “Although I have a feeling that Anders would kill us both for leaving him in charge.”

Nathaniel laughed. “Forget killing us. He’d find a way to hide himself and that cat of his in our luggage and _join_ us, leaving Oghren in control of things.”

“Which would more than likely lead to hedonistic drinking parties every night, the Joining reduced to a contest as to who could chug the most darkspawn blood before passing out. Alistair wouldn’t be pleased at all and we’d only have ourselves to blame.” She broke away from him and grabbed her dust cloth, holding it in her hand as if it were a weapon. “I guess we have no other choice but to stay here.” Moira began to dust another bookcase, but stopped when she saw Nathaniel look around.

“There are a few tapestries in storage that might look good in here,” he said. “And I think that there’s another rug with them. If you want, I can get them for you.”

“You’d actually _want_ to help?” In her experience, the men in her life had made themselves scarce whenever the phrase ‘Spring Cleaning’ fell from her mother’s lips.

He shrugged. “Well, if we can’t run off together, the least I can do is help you out here.”

She smiled at him. “You’re going to get dusty.” As if to prove her point, a large clump of dust drifted down from the top of the bookshelf, making her sneeze.

He wiped away a smudge of dirt from her cheek. “I think I can handle it.” His eyes went towards his father’s portrait again. Would his hair grey in the same pattern as he aged? Would his face have the same lines on it between his eyebrows and along the sides of his mouth? The features caught on the canvas were so much like his own that it was impossible to wonder if he would one day become his father. _No,_ he thought, the knowledge of the faith Moira had in him settling warmly in his chest. _I am nothing like you. I will be_ better _than you, I swear._


	22. Chapter 22

“I’m sorry that we have to skip out on visiting your sister,” Moira said as they walked out of the marketplace. “I had been looking forward to seeing her.”

“I think she’ll understand. _Finally_ getting some information on your conspirators is a bit of a trade-off.” Nathaniel gave her a sideways glance. “We can always visit her later, once things quiet down.”

“You’re right.” Moira pressed her lips together as they went back to the Crown and Lion, where they had left their horses.

“You’re nervous.”

“Yes.” She led her horse down the main path out of the city and thought back to the information they had gotten out of the Dark Wolf impersonator. True to his word, he’d been as fast as he could, gathering up enough information to be useful to Moira without having her run after dead ends. He’d flagged them down and filled them in on a meeting between several nobles that felt as if Moira had slighted them in recent judgements. The meeting was to be held in a nearby farmhouse to discuss how they were to go about ambushing Moira within the confines of Vigil’s Keep. Moira presumed that they were planning their attack to send a message that if the Arlessa couldn’t secure her own home, how could the common people trust her to keep them and their lands safe? She had to admit, it was a rather clever plot on their part, and one that she was all too happy to ruin.

“Do you think that we should head back to the Keep, get some backup?”

Moira shook her head. “No. The less people involved, the better. We get too many of us in one place and fail to contain everyone, the nobles can start spreading rumors of the Wardens trying to take _everything_ from them.”

Nathaniel sighed. “You’re right. If things go bad, there won’t be a risk of making even more of our friends targets for future assassination plots.”

“It’s bad enough that I’m making _you_ one, Nate.”

He looked at her. “Please. I know you have ears: _Rendon’s traitor son_ has been muttered often enough within hearing distance. I’m a target, even if you hadn’t involved me today.” He reached over and put a hand over hers where she was clenching the reins in her fists so hard that the leather was protesting. “They’re only words, Moira. I pay them little heed.”

She snorted. “Please,” she echoed. “You were raised just as I was. Words spoken by the nobility are never _merely_ words. But still, I’m glad that you’re with me today. I couldn’t think of anyone else that I’d rather have at my back.”

There was a satisfied thrill at her words that made his heart flutter in his chest. “What, not even Justice?” While the spirit inhabiting the body of Warden Kristoff was a macabre addition to their team, he was one of the best tanks to have at a rogue’s back, his shield bashing out a clear path for Moira to flit around and attack those distracted by Justice’s blade. Nathaniel was trying to work through the way that his appearance unnerved him to try and build a rapport with the spirit, and they had been having several meaningful conversations as of late.

Moira shook her head. “I’m not leaving that farmhouse until the threat against me is completely neutralized. Justice may go with my choices, but he wouldn’t like them.” Moira’s moral compass didn’t always stay on the straight and narrow; she held the belief that the ends usually justify the means, even if that meant going from black and white to the varying shades of grey morality. Her work as the Dark Wolf proved that she was more than comfortable dipping her toes in what was considered outlawed if it meant that the little people she couldn’t help any other way would be taken care of. The few times that she had acted without taking all of her companion’s opinions into consideration, she could all but feel the disapproval radiate in waves off of Justice.

“When you say neutralize, you mean that you’re going to kill them all, don’t you?”

She slowed her horse down and slipped her hand out from underneath his. “Is that a problem?” she asked, arching her eyebrow.

“No. I was going to suggest the same thing. Leaving even one of them alive means that there’s a chance that they’ll regroup and try to kill you again, but the next time they’ll be even more careful not to get caught. It’s only common sense that we end this here and now.”

Moira looked at him and gave him the smallest of smiles. “Thank you. For a moment there, I thought…” She sighed. “It doesn’t matter what I thought.”

He reached out and put his hand on her arm. “Yes, it does. Did you think I would think less of you for wanting to kill everyone? Moira, these are people who were loyal to my father and want to overthrow your rule so they can set one of themselves up as the Arl or Alressa. They’re not above killing others who try to warn you of their actions either; Ser Tamara’s death proved that.”

“I don’t like killing,” she confessed. While Zevran had been vocal about getting enjoyment out of the act and Leliana’s voice had often held a wistfulness as she spoke of her former life as a bard. There had been a pleased glint in her eye when they had dealt with Marjolaine, and Leliana had seemed to be harder after the death of her mentor. She was still the gentle and soft-spoken member of their group, but there was something sharp about her that hadn’t been there before, or at least it had been hidden better and Moira hadn’t noticed it until then. For Moira’s part, she had listened to everything both rogues had offered to teach her and she _did_ enjoy the stealthier portions of their lessons, but she never did take pleasure out of practicing the deadlier techniques they had shown her. To her, death was a means to an end. She used it as a means to survive, be it darkspawn or dragons or anything else in between. “But it is necessary.”

They dismounted as they got closer to the farmhouse, leaving their horses tied to a tree a mile or so away so they wouldn’t give their position away to their adversaries. Nathaniel didn’t say anything to her confession. He knew what she was trying to say, that she may be required to do something well – and she _was_ good at killing, watching her cut through bandits and darkspawn alike had proven that – it didn’t mean that she had to _enjoy_ doing what she did. His heart went out to her at the way her body had tensed in anticipation for his disapproval, that this of all things may change the way he felt about her. Not knowing what else to do, he linked his fingers through hers as they walked as a silent show of support. She was silent, but she did squeeze his fingers back.

The farmhouse that her would-be assassins were congregating in was a familiar sight to Nathaniel. As a boy, he’d run all over the Feravel Plains, dodging through cornfields and jumping fences on his way to and from Amaranthine. The homestead looked abandoned, but it had once belonged to a rather successful couple. The husband would let him use their home as a sort of waypoint when Nathaniel grew older and was traveling more often from Vigil’s Keep to Highever, the farmer allowing him to rest his horse and draw water from their well. The wife would often invite him in to get out of the sun, providing a light snack for the remainder of his trip. Just seeing the house brought a sense memory of freshly baked bread slathered with sweet honey and butter.

They crouched behind the cover of some overgrown apple trees bordering the property. There were several horses located near the barn and while Nathaniel couldn’t make out who they belonged to from their hiding spot, he did spy several people milling about in the front yard by the well. “I’m counting five,” he whispered. “What’s the plan?”

Moira took a breath. “I would say to openly go in and confront them, but I doubt they’ll want to sit and talk.” Her eyes darted to the house, noting that there were plenty of dappled shadows to hide in. “I’ll go around the house and attack their flank. You cover me?”

“Always.” He flashed her a reassuring smile. “It’s only five against two, how hard can that be?”

There was a noise behind them. “You mean six.” Both of them whirled around to see a sixth man directly behind them. “Intruders!” The man shouted something in Antivan that had Moira snarling as she rolled out of the way of his knife.

“Oh, I was _not_ expecting this,” she growled, reaching for the throwing knife she kept at the small of her back. A flick of the wrist had it flying towards their opponent, the blade lodged in his throat. He went down with a gurgle, his hands clawing at the blade. “If it hasn’t already been done, I am going to kill Ignacio. I was _promised_ immunity from the Crows!” Moira twisted the knife to make certain that the assassin was dead before yanking it out and placing it back in its sheath, her hands going for the larger blades she carried with her.

Nathaniel vaguely comprehended the fact that Moira was now cursing in fluid Antivan under her breath and that she had personal experience dealing with an order of assassins, mostly because he was busy firing arrows at a rapidly approaching crowd, his concentration on the lone archer who was trying to get Moira in his sights. Nathaniel’s aim was true: he followed his shot and watched as the other archer’s head was knocked backwards, the arrow jutting out of his forehead. Just for good measure, Nathaniel fired another one, this time aiming for his chest. Moira ran forward, both of her blades drawn. Lord Guy never stood a chance as they collided. The nobleman was clearly anticipating a clean sort of duel, if his stance was anything to go by. Moira hadn’t fought a clean sort of anything in her entire life, _especially_ during the Blight. A high pitched howl pierced the air as the man fell to his knees, his hand clutching the stub where his right arm used to be.

Nathaniel provided cover fire as Moira moved to her next assailant. Lady Morag thought that she would use the fact that Moira’s back was turned as an opportunity to strike. Nathaniel riddled her body with arrows in return. Quiver empty, he drew his own dagger and waded into the fray.

“Two against two,” Moira huffed, blocking Lady Liza’s sword with both of her knives. “At least the odds are right about even.”

Nathaniel backed up until he and Moira were fighting back to back. “Less talking, more fighting.” The remaining assassin was quick with a pair of daggers and Nathaniel bit back a cry as one of the blades sliced through his sleeve and left a burning trail of pain along his forearm. Using all his strength, he pushed back until he had the assassin on the defensive. It wasn’t long before Nathaniel found the smallest of openings and took it, his blade sliding between the other man’s ribs. Opponent dead, Nathaniel spun around in time to watch Moira roll out of Lady Liza’s range. Picking up Lord Guy’s full sized sword, Moira used it to slice Lady Liza’s head off her shoulders.

“Who else is there?” Moira demanded, dropping the sword and going over to Lord Guy, who was writhing on the ground in pain like a landed fish. “ _Who else?_ ”

“No one!” His voice turned into a shriek as Moira jammed her thumb into what was left of his arm.

“Why don’t I believe you?”

“She said that you would be easy to kill,” he wailed, eyes rolling around wildly. “She told us that taking care of you ourselves would be for the best!” Bright arterial blood soaked the ground around him, making a muddy mess that quickly caked the side of his face.

“Who told you that?” Moira leaned close. “Tell me and I’ll bandage you.”

Lord Guy attempted to spit in her face, but couldn’t generate enough spittle. What he did manage merely dribbled down his chin. Knowing that she wasn’t going to get any information out of him, Moira got up from where she had been crouching over his body and began to search the others.

It didn’t take very long for Lord Guy to bleed out. “I don’t see anyone else,” Nathaniel said, sheathing his dagger and pressing his hand against his wound, blood dripping between his fingers.

“No, we got them all.” Moira yanked at Lady Morag’s gown and tore a long strip of silk from the dress, using that as a temporary bandage for Nathaniel’s arm until they could get back to their horses and the basic medical gear they kept in their saddlebags. “But that wasn’t all of them.”

“What do you mean?” Nathaniel grunted as Moira tied the silk a bit tighter than he would have, but it helped to keep pressure on the wound.

“Lord Guy said that _she_ told them I was easy to kill. That _she_ said taking care of me themselves would be for the best.” She gestured to the two dead assassins. “These are Antivan Crows. Admittedly, they aren’t very good; the ones that ambushed my party in Denerim fought back better than these did. I’m going to take the fact that Master Ignacio promised me that the last time I was a target for the Crows would be the last time I would _ever_ be a target for them out of the equation for a moment, even though that is really bothering me.” Moira continued to search the bodies, but didn’t come up with anything noteworthy or that would help them figure out who else was in on the conspiracy. “Assassins are notoriously expensive for hire, and the Crows even more so. Their services definitely do not come cheaply.”

“How much are we talking here?” Nathaniel asked, picking up discarded arrows and putting them back into his quiver.

“This close to the end of a Blight? Far more than what these minor nobles had in their vaults combined, that’s for certain. Now who in Amaranthine would want me dead _and_ have enough money to pay for not one, but three expensive assassins?”

“I think we both know the answer to that one,” Nathaniel said grimly. He looked around at the carnage in the yard. The memory of freshly baked bread was replaced with the coppery scent of too much spilled blood. “What do we do with the bodies?”

Moira crossed her arms, her expression stony. “Leave them. I’m sure that our mastermind will come investigate once she doesn’t hear from them. I want her to see what happens when someone tries to challenge me.”

The walk back to their horses was silent, and Moira winced in sympathy as she gently untied the saturated silk bandage from Nathaniel’s arm and poured water from her canteen over the injury to clean it. It was still bleeding freely as she slathered a generous amount of thick healing paste onto it before wrapping a linen bandage around it all.

“You should take some poison antidote,” she said, tipping the last of the water from her canteen over her hands and wiping her palms dry on the thighs of her pants. “I wouldn’t put it past assassins to coat their blades with some sort of agent.”

“I was thinking the same thing, but I think that I won’t have to worry.”

Moira dug through her bag and found a small glass vial. “Humor me, please.”

Thankfully the ride back to Vigil’s Keep was blessedly uneventful. Moira had spent most of their ride glancing at Nathaniel and watching for any sign of massive blood loss or any possible poisoning that may have gotten past the antidote he had taken. For his part, Nathaniel had tried to distract himself from the pain by trying to think up reasons that Bann Esmerelle would want Moira dead. He thought back to the night that Moira had officially taken control of the Arling and the assembled nobles had sworn fealty to her. He remembered how Ser Timothy had stayed at Esmerelle’s side like glue for the entire evening and it had been obvious that the two of them were close, or at least shared the same mindset.

When he wasn’t thinking of Esmerelle’s motives, Nathaniel’s thoughts went to Moira mentioning that she had been a target for the Crows before. While they had spoken about her adventures during the Blight, he could tell that she had been vague on certain details on purpose, more than likely to spare him worry about her welfare or to protect what invisible shred of respect he may have had left for his father. The only mention of assassins had been about the one who she had befriended along the way. He wondered who had ordered her death, if it had been his father or if it had ben Loghain, and if it had been the latter, why she had decided to spare the man’s life instead of executing him for treason. He also wondered just what type of deal she had to strike with a master assassin in order to get a guarantee that she would never become a target for their organization again and if that deal had anything to do with why her fighting style mirrored their own.

“We can’t prove that she’s involved,” Moira said, voicing the same conclusion that Nathaniel had come to during their ride. “At least not tonight.”

“I know.” Maker, but he was tired. He’d spent most of the ride with his arm held protectively towards his chest, and even though it had grown dark, the sun setting during the last mile or two of their trip, the light from the torches outside the stables was enough for him to see the concerned look on Moira’s face.

“You’re still bleeding,” she said, dismounting and going towards him.

“It’s not that bad.” It was a lie and they both knew it, but after the day that they’d had, the last thing Nathaniel wanted to do was worry her. He’d go into the Keep and find Anders to heal it.

She rolled her eyes. “Come on, I can patch you up better here.” With that, she led him by his uninjured hand to the Keep’s infirmary. It had gone through some upgrades since the last time he had been inside, Moira letting Anders have almost free reign over what needed to be bought and what needed to be stocked to better suit a Warden stronghold. Nathaniel knew that she and Anders had worked hard to gather as much of the herbs as they could themselves to shift available funds towards bigger ticket items, like improving the equipment and adding more lighting and ventilation. Even Velanna had helped with the poultice and potion making.

“Sit here and don’t move,” she commanded, helping him into a chair. She quickly pulled a long piece of straw from a nearby basket and used a nearby oil lamp that was already lit to catch the end on fire. It wasn’t long before she had used the now lit straw to light the candles next to his chair, brightening up her working space. He watched as she tugged off her bloodstained fingerless gloves and threw them on the nearby table before pumping water into the infirmary’s basin to scrub at her hands and gather an armload of supplies.

“Yes ma’am,” he joked, but he was quietly grateful to be off his feet. Even the walk to the infirmary from the stables had worn him out, telling him that he had lost more blood than he probably should have.

“This looks bad,” she said, kneeling in front of him and unpeeling the bandage he had soaked through. “You’re going to need stitches. I could have a runner bring Anders or Velanna here, or I could sew you up, your call.”

He looked at her. “You’re the closest. I’d rather get this taken care of sooner rather than waiting for a page to fetch our resident healers from wherever they may be.”

“Are you certain? My sewing skill is decent, but there’s still a chance that you’ll scar compared to having this heal by magic.”

“I’m certain. Besides, what’s one more scar to add to the collection?”

She used his knee to help her up from her kneeling position on the floor. “Spoken like a man who has plenty of scars to spare.”

Nathaniel watched as Moira went over to the cache of supplies she had stacked on the worktable, her hand absently going towards her shoulder where he knew there was a ragged scar hidden by her shirt. It was an older mark made by wolf teeth that even though it was shiny, the scar itself had eventually turned a pale white instead of the mottled pink of a new injury. Her eyes were downcast as she went through her supplies and she gave a tired sounding sigh.

“I have several in some interesting places, my lady,” he said, trying to lighten the mood that had fallen between them.  “If you like, I’d be more than happy to show them to you.”

That earned him a brief huff of laugher. “I may take you up on that offer, Ser,” she said, threading a long, curved needle. “I’m going to warn you, this will hurt.”

“Will you distract me then?” Reaching out, he hooked his uninjured arm around her waist and pulled her in close. The leather armor she wore dug into his thigh when she sat in his lap, but he didn’t care.

She blushed, but didn’t move to stand up or leave his embrace. “This may be a bad idea.”

“Oh?” He grunted as she began to stitch. “How so?”

“I fear that we both may wind up distracted, then you’ll end up with crooked stitches.”

He pressed his face against her shoulder and inhaled the scent of lavender that almost always seemed to waft off of her skin. “I have every confidence in your handiwork.”

“We’ll see if you still think that way after I’m done.” She worked quickly, her hands gentle on his arm whenever he sucked in a hiss of pain between his teeth, the change of pressure from the arm he had wrapped around her waist telling her when he was in the most pain. Sewing complete, she added on another thick layer of healing paste and efficiently wrapped everything up with a clean bandage.

“Try not to get it wet for a day or so,” she said, her voice oddly thick as she moved from his lap to begin putting up the supplies she had taken out. “And check with Anders first thing in the morning to make sure that nothing got infected.”

Getting up from the chair, Nathaniel went over to where Moira was trying to put a jar up on an overhead shelf. Reaching over her head, he pushed it in place for her. “Thank you,” he told her, his hand settling familiarly on her waist. He grew concerned when he heard the faintest sniffle. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m so sorry, Nate,” she said, turning so she could face him. “I hate that you got hurt because of me. This was my fault.”

He wrapped both arms around her and brought her in close, pleased when she brought her own hands up and splayed them across his back. “I hardly see how this is your fault, Moira,” he said, his face buried against her hair. “I was the one that was too slow and didn’t avoid the attack.”

“No, but you wouldn’t be hurt if you hadn’t been there with me. I should have gone without you.”

Her reply had been muffled by his shirt, but he had still understood her. “It wouldn’t have worked,” he said. “I would have gone after you.”

Moira pulled back to argue again, but he pressed a finger against her lip. “Didn’t we already have a conversation about you not having to do everything by yourself? You, Moira Cousland, are stuck with me whether you wish it or not.” His finger moved from her lip to tilt her chin up so he could look her in the eye. “My bow is yours, as is my sword arm. You have my undying loyalty; I’ll serve you for as long as there is life left in me.”

She blinked, eyes shimmering in the candlelight. “That rather sounds like an oath of fealty,” she said, trying hard to breathe properly at the earnest expression on his face.

He gave her a small, lopsided smile. “I know it isn’t quite poetic or traditional sounding, but you must forgive me. I’m suffering from blood loss and I’m thinking on my feet here.”

Moira laughed. “No, it was perfect.” Impulsively, she cupped his face with both hands and lightly pressed her lips to his. He broke away first, searching her face for any sign of objection before slowly, almost as if he were giving her plenty of room and time to change her mind, kissing her again. There was no heat or seduction in his kiss, just a sense of wonder that he was permitted to do this again after so long. She sighed against his mouth as his arms tightened around her and he pressed his forehead against hers.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he breathed, tilting his head to press another feather light kiss across her lips.

She rubbed her thumbs against the angle of his jaw. “Probably as long as I’ve wanted you to,” she admitted.

Nathaniel stroked her sides, his next kiss pressing harder than the last. “Oh Moira, I have _missed you._ ”

His words made her choke back a sob. Throwing her arms around his shoulders, she rose up onto the tips of her toes to better hold him. “I’ve missed you so much,” she breathed, her breath ragged as she pressed a kiss against his cheek. “After everything that’s happened between us and what we’re facing now, I was so afraid that…”

“That we wouldn’t be able to pick up where we left off?” He moved away only far enough that he could look her in the eye. “ _Can_ we pick up where we left off?”

She bit her lip. “I don’t know. We were both different people then, but…”

“But…?”

Moira gave him a hopeful smile. “I would like to start something new.”

He laughed and ignoring his injuries, picked her up and spun her around. “There’s going to be talk,” he said in between kisses.

“Oh, most definitely. Oghren in particular will have some rather lewd suggestions.”

Nathaniel raised his eyebrow and gave her a rakish smirk. “Should I take him up on any of those suggestions?”

Moira ran her fingers through his hair. “Something tells me that you won’t need any tips on _forging the moaning statue_ or _hiding the helmet_ to proceed.”

He had to snort at those descriptions. Sobering, he leaned against the worktable. “So, what do we do next?”

“I don’t know. The majority of the conspirators have been taken out of the picture, and with the death of the Crows she sent after me, it will take Esmerelle some time to collect enough coin to pay off anyone else. The next move may be to pay Ser Temmerly a visit, to see how he likes our dungeons and if he’d be willing to share any information now that he’s been a guest of ours for a while now.”

“And the Crows?”

She looked down. Taking a breath, she squared her shoulders and looked back at him, a determined glint in her eye. “I don’t know if they’ll be an issue, but if they are, let them come. We can handle them.”

“Why, I do think this is the first time I’ve heard you use the phrases _we_ and _our_ when talking out issues.”

She smirked at him. “I’ve been told upon several occasions that I don’t have to do things alone. I’m merely following advice.”

“Rather sound advice, I might add.” He traced the backs of his knuckles against her cheek. “Whoever could have given it to you, I wonder.”

She pressed her cheek against his hand. “I don’t know,” she teased. “But he was a rather handsome fellow.”

“Hm, perhaps you should keep him around.”

Moira laughed. On one hand, it almost felt wrong to feel this happy, what with all the loose ends that needed to be tied up with not only the Architect and the Mother, but with her conspirators. Yet on the other, after all the tragedy in her life and everything of herself that she had given to help save Ferelden, she felt as if she could indulge in a bout of selfishness. If anything, she was determined to grab this bit of happiness with both hands and guard it as fiercely as any dragon would.

“I intend to, believe me.”


	23. Chapter 23

_The stench of darkspawn filled Moira’s nose until she was close to gagging. Pain speared through her leg and she kicked out, catching the grublike thing whose teeth had shredded through her armor with her boot and sending it flying a few feet away even as another attacked her arm. The tang of ozone and ash filled the air, an after-effect of Anders casting a thunderbolt and fireball in rapid succession. Somewhere ahead of her, she could hear Oghren bellowing out a war cry. What caught her attention was the fact that Nathaniel was ahead of her, and the sight made her blood run cold. He was caught in a mass of tentacles and that….thing, that broodmother, held his limp body as she shook him about like a rag doll. The broodmother cackled, a sound that made Moira’s hair stand on end. Nathaniel’s neck flopped about and his face turned towards her. The eye that hadn’t been ruined from acid stared blindly at her and his mouth was slack, black ichor spilling from cracked lips. Screaming, Moira ran towards him and…_

Moira bolted awake, her breath ragged and her hand clenched around the hilt of the blade she kept at her bedside. Letting the dagger clatter back against the nightstand, she sat up and rested her head on her knees, her entire body covered in a fine film of sweat. While she had often dreamt of darkspawn, this had been the most vivid nightmare since the archdemon. _And that probably isn’t a good thing,_ Moira thought, scrubbing her face with shaking hands. She didn’t give a second thought to the evening chill that seeped through her thin nightgown as she walked purposely through the empty halls towards Nathaniel’s room. Moira didn’t feel the slightest bit of guilt at entering before knocking when she heard the distressed sounds he made on the other side of the door as he wrestled with his own nightmares. Slipping inside, she perched on the edge of the bed and looked down on him as he thrashed about in his sleep, his arms were tense at his side, hands clenched into fists.

“Wake up, Nate,” she said, putting her hands against the side of his face. He muttered something incomprehensible, his head tossing to the side. “Nathaniel.”

She had expected him to come to swinging, but it still took all of her agility to dodge the punch aimed at her. “Moira?” Nathaniel’s breath came out in ragged pants. It took a few seconds before he gracelessly propped himself on his elbow, the sheets tangled around his legs and his eyes still wild. “Damn, I didn’t hit you, did I?”

She shook her head. “You’re not quite as fast half asleep as you usually are,” she assured him, her fingers brushing hair out of his eyes. “You completely missed me.”

He reached out and held onto her arm. Moonlight spilled from the window near his bed, the light outside enough to see by. “No bites,” he said, turning her arm over and running a finger over the underside of her forearm.

“You had the same dream?” Moira asked, her free hand carefully tracing the side of his face. She shuddered, remembering the way that his dream flesh had blistered and peeled away, exposing bone.

Nathaniel turned his head, his lips settling against her palm. It had been odd; he hadn’t felt any pain during the dream, but he had clearly heard Moira scream out to him. She’d been running, her hand stretched out towards him, when she’d been overcome by darkspawn. He had struggled against the hold that the large, bloated being had on him, but he couldn’t reach Moira in time to help her. The last thing he remembered before he had jolted into consciousness was seeing her overcome, her body covered by scores of those screeching creatures and the thing that held him cackling in his ear as the hand Moira had stretched out towards him was engulfed. “What _was_ that?” he asked, his hand wrapping around her wrist, his thumb running in reassuring circles over her pulse. He pulled her towards him until she was all but sprawled in bed with him.

“That was a broodmother,” Moira explained, settling until she was comfortable against him, her cheek on his chest. “In the Blackmarsh, that darkspawn called the First spoke of a Mother. I’d bet good money that what we saw tonight was her.”

“You’ve seen them before, haven’t you?”

“Once, in the Deep Roads.” She was quiet and Nathaniel tightened his arms around her. “The Mother was human, or at least she used to be human,” she finally said.

His eyes widened. “What are you saying? Did darkspawn did this to her?”

Moira nodded. “They don’t have many uses for men, except to kill them for food. Women…” she shuddered. “They need us in order to sustain their numbers. It’s why you rarely find the bodies of women in the villages that have been attacked.” She shuddered as she recalled the way Hespith’s empty voice had echoed through the Deep Roads. _Now you lay and wait, for the screams will haunt you in dreams._

“That’s…” he grimaced, trying to wrap his mind around this new information.

“Horrific? Nightmarish? Completely incomprehensible?”

He shook his head. “All of the above.” Without meaning to, his mind went to what would happen to Moira during their encounters with darkspawn in the wilds, or Maker forbid, a second attack on the Vigil would happen. His mouth set into a firm line. He _refused_ to think of what would happen to Moira should she be captured.

“It won’t happen,” she said, looking up at him.

“What?”

“I know what you’re thinking. One of the reasons I always take Oghren with us is that he promised me, back when we first got out of the Deep Roads, that the same wouldn’t ever happen to me. He’d see that I’d be useless to them before that happened.”

Nathaniel slipped out of Moira’s embrace and paced towards the window. The few torches a story below reflected off the stones outside, the rest of the Keep bathed in the moon’s silvery glow. He turned his head towards her and frowned. “Useless meaning that he’d kill you first.”

She stood as well and crossed her arms over her chest. “Yes. I trust him, Nate. Would you be able to do the same if he weren’t around?”

“I…” he sighed, his shoulders drooping in defeat. “No, I wouldn’t.” He hated thinking about it, especially after the nightmare he just had. Wanting to dispel the lingering feeling of unease, he reached out and gathered Moira in his arms, his nose buried in her hair and the faint scent of lavender wafting from the strands calming his nerves.

Moira spayed her hands against his back and closed her eyes. “For what it’s worth, I wouldn’t be able to do it either.” Just the thought of ending Nathaniel’s life, even if a quick death meant sparing him untold suffering at the hands of darkspawn, made her stomach clench and throat close up. “Could I stay here with you tonight? I don’t want to be alone, not after that.”

His hands ran over the thin linen nightgown she wore. “Of course.” He glanced over at the overstuffed chair near his bed. The last time that they had been together, they had spent many a night curled up in it. “Though I don’t know if we’d both fit in that thing again, at least not without suffering for it. We were a lot…”

“Slimmer?” she asked, arching her eyebrow.

“I’d never say such a thing,” he lightly teased, kissing her forehead. “We were _younger_ a decade ago, is what I meant to say. And while my ladyship certainly has a way of moving across the battlefield, I daresay that the both of us were more flexible in our youth.”

Moira cracked a smile. “Unfair. You’ve seen the limp I get first thing in the mornings.” The catch of her hip was due more to injury than age, but it bothered her the most when she stayed in one position for too long.

“And you’ve heard the way my arm’s been clicking lately.” He sighed dramatically, his unbraided hair falling across his shoulder. “I’m fortunate that I’ve kept my dashing good looks, else I’d have never had a chance of winning your affections now.”

She gave him a small smile. “I think you sell yourself short, Nathaniel.” She rocked up on the tips of her toes and softly pressed her lips to his. Her smile widened at his intake of breath and the way his hands settled against her waist. “Dashing good looks aside, you still possess plenty of qualities to tempt me.”

“And for that,” he said, his mouth moving across hers with each word, “I consider myself extremely fortunate.” He affectionately brushed his nose against hers.

Moira’s hands ran down his sides, her fingers catching on the waistband of his loose fitting trousers. “Let’s go to sleep,” she whispered, kissing his chin as she took his hand and drew him back to his bed. “We’ve a lot to do in the morning.” She expected that the other Wardens would have something to say about their shared dream, and she wanted to grab what little sleep she could before trying to answer any questions anyone might have. Crawling under the sheets, she settled against the pillows Nathaniel hadn’t been using. “What?”

He smiled. “Nothing.” He drew the covers over them both and pulled up his arm so she could curl against him. “I was just remembering what happened the last time you were in this bed.”

_Now_ Moira blushed. She slid her hand over his chest, her palm resting over the steady thrum of his heart. It wasn’t a stretch to remember the bittersweet way they had let their hands wander all those years ago, how the sorrow of him leaving the next morning had warred with the wonder of discovering the other’s bodies for the first time, lips tracing over heated skin and fingers linking together. “Are you hoping to recreate that night?” she asked, snuggling closer to him. Heat all but radiated off Nathaniel’s skin and she let it sink into her bones, the knots in her neck and shoulders where she kept her stress slowly unwinding. She gasped when she felt his hand gather up the material of her nightdress and slowly slide it upwards, teasingly stopping at the curve of her hip.

“Can’t blame me for hoping,” he murmured, tangling his legs with hers. “But not tonight.” He rubbed his cheek against her hair. “Sleep. I’ll keep your nightmares at bay.”

“Goodnight,” she said, already feeling her eyes grow heavy. Turning her head, she pressed her lips against his shoulder. “I’ll do the same for you.”

If anyone would have ventured into Nathaniel’s bedchamber the next morning, they would have found them both sound asleep. Both of them had shifted during the night; Moira was now on her side with her back facing him, Nathaniel curled protectively around her, his knees fitting snugly behind hers. Her hand covered his, their fingers laced together.

Moira’s eyes cracked open at the sound of songbirds at the window. She was too comfortable to complain, but Nathaniel had wound up hogging the better part of the mattress, leaving her with only a sliver to herself. She tried to push him onto his back, but all her efforts had earned her was a sleepy grunt from Nathaniel, who wrapped his arm tighter around her waist and buried his face against her skin, his stubble lightly scraping her shoulder. Sighing, she settled back against his chest and decided she had enough time to doze for a little while longer before she would have to sneak back to her chambers.

_Next time, we’ll stay in my room,_ she thought, settling more comfortably in his arms. _I have a larger bed._


	24. Chapter 24

“Blasted scavengers,” Moira hissed under her breath, searching the contents of said scavenger’s clothing. He didn’t protest, mostly because he was dead. “Sodding rain.”

“If I didn’t know any better,” Nathaniel said dryly, tugging his already dripping hood further over his head to shield himself from the worst of the rain, “I’d say I was traveling with the dwarf.”

Moira snorted and jammed some more of the goods they had managed to salvage into her pack. “That can be remedied,” she told him archly, shivering in her armor. “I’ll just run back home while you keep watch here and tell Oghren that we’re going to need an extra hand carting all this back.”

Nathaniel shouldered his satchel and shook his head as he grabbed a second one he had found amid the ruined crates. “That won’t be necessary. Come on, we’ve saved everything that hasn’t been broken.”

Moira’s boots squelched in the mud and she had to walk slower than usual to avoid slipping. “Somehow, I don’t think we’re going to make it back in this weather.”

He reached out and held onto her elbow. “I think you’re right. Luckily, we’re close to town. A night at the inn sounds much more agreeable than trying to set up camp out here.” He would have suggested his sister’s home for shelter from the storm, but he didn’t want to impose. He and Moira had made one trip to Delilah’s home since resolving the mess with the conspirators and the Dark Wolf, and while it had been pleasant enough of a visit, he could tell that it had been stilted on both women’s parts as they tried to relearn how to talk to the other. It might take a while, but he hoped that they’d be able to regain the friendship both of them had held so dear.

Thunder rumbled and a flash of lightning lit up the sky as they made it back to where they had left their horses. Two travelers on horseback would have alerted the scavengers to their presence before he and Moira could take them unaware, but the uphill return trip would have been far easier if they had been able to leave their mounts closer to the ambush site.  The summer thunderstorm had caught them both by surprise, the day beginning warmer than usual without a single hint of the downpour of rain they were currently being buffeted by. They were in the area on a request from Mistress Woolsey to retrieve some merchant goods before scavengers could claim them, and Moira had felt that it was a simple job for only two people. Nathaniel had volunteered to go with her, ignoring Oghren and Anders’ snickers behind his back and muttered comments about wanting  _alone time_  with the Commander. He and Moira had been discreet over the past weeks about the change in their relationship, yet it seemed as if everyone in their group had still caught on. Sneaking around and stealing covert kisses in darkened hallways had its appeal, but it was also was a relief to know that should he want to, he could walk right up to the throne room dais and kiss Moira senseless in front of everyone present. Not that he ever _would_ ; he was far too private of a person to display that much affection in front of others, but it made him happy simply knowing that he _could_.

As luck would have it, Amaranthine was only roughly half an hour’s ride from the salvage site. By the time that they reached the front gates, what little sun that had peeked through the overcast sky had gone down over the horizon. Both of them were soaked through to the bone and completely chilled, their hoods only helping so much with rain that had decided to whip around almost horizontally. Moira’s hair was plastered to her scalp and her teeth were chattering together.

“Awful weather out tonight?” The innkeeper at the Crown and Lion commented, looking up at them from his spot behind the bar.

“Absolutely horrible,” Moira agreed, warming her shaking hands in front of the fire, a small puddle of rainwater already starting to form under her boots and sink into the floorboards.

“We’re looking for rooms,” Nathaniel said, going over to the bar. He pulled out his money pouch and fished out five sovereigns. “Anything private with a fireplace.”

The innkeeper pocketed the money and slid a room key. “Last room on the right. I can have a spot of dinner brought up, if you’d like.”

“It would be appreciated.”

Moira arched her eyebrow at Nathaniel once they were alone in their rented room. “How much money did you pay him with to get this one?” she asked, huddling in front of the fireplace and poking at the fire that had already been lit before they got there. She shivered again and sneezed.

“Enough that we’re not going to be bothered for the rest of the evening,” he replied, thanking the maid who came in with a platter of roast beef and potatoes. She’d also included a kettle of tea and two mugs. “You’re going to have to get out of those clothes if you don’t want to catch cold.”

“I would, but there’s nothing to wear while they dry.  I didn't think to pack a change of clothing for a quick day trip.” She rolled her eyes when Nathaniel held up one of the blankets folded up at the foot of the bed. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were using this as a chance to see me mostly naked.” The past few weeks had been full of instances that reminded her of so long ago, and while she wasn’t against the idea of throwing off all her clothes and tackling Nathaniel, it seemed as if he wanted to take things at a slower pace.

And Maker, but the deliberately slow progression of kisses and meaningful glances was driving her practically insane, which was probably what he intended in the first place.

“I’ll turn my back,” he teased. “I promise I won’t catch a glimpse of your frilly pink smallclothes.”

Moira laughed, unbuckling the straps to her armor. “And what makes you think that they’re pink?” she quipped back, setting the gear near the hearth. Hopefully the rain hadn’t ruined the set – it was one of her favorites so far that she’d commissioned Wade to make for her. She’d found out that if he wasn’t given a regular challenge every once and a while, he grew bored, which made production of the armor he’d promised her troops slower than usual. A change of pace did him good and his productivity went up, much to her and Herrin’s delight.

She could practically feel Nathaniel's eyes on her back as she peeled herself out of her thin undershirt and wrapped up in one of the blankets, gooseflesh breaking out across her chilled skin.  “Black lace,” he murmured in approval, handing her a mug of steaming tea. “I wouldn’t have guessed.” He brushed past her and went about undoing the buckles to his own armor. He stretched his shirt and trousers on the hearth next to her clothing, his boots joining hers as well. He slung another blanket around his hips, grinning at the way Moira’s eyes quickly darted away when she saw that he caught her staring. “It suits you.”

Brushing her still wet hair out of her eyes, Moira lit the candles sitting on the bedside table before settling close to the hearth and letting the warmth of the stone sink into her bones. “It seems as if I’m going to be taking you up on your offer,” she told him, pulling her blanket higher on her shoulders.

“Hmm?”

“You offered to show me the scars you had. I do believe you said they were in interesting places.”

He shrugged. “Ah, yes. Those. I’m afraid to say that I probably exaggerated a bit when I said they were interesting.” He turned and raised his arm, showing a thin white line that went down his back from his left shoulder before making a curve towards his rib.

“Where did you get that one?” she asked, her eyes tracing the mark.

“Sparing match. I was too slow.” It had also been one of the first times he’d attempted to fight with two blades instead of one. He’d been uncoordinated and his opponent had easily bested him. He sat down next to her. “Where did this one come from?” he inquired, his index finger brushing underneath her right collarbone. He knew about the larger one close by, the jagged, silvery lines pressed into her skin courtesy of a wolf’s teeth. Yet the small puckered scar that peeked out from under the blanket looked more like an old arrow wound.

“In Ostagar. Alistair and I were sent to light the beacon to signal the cavalry to arrive, but the tower was overrun by darkspawn. The two of us would have died there if it hadn’t been for Flemeth’s rescue.” She didn’t remember much about the events that followed, mainly because she had cracked her head when she had fallen. “And this?”

Nathaniel smiled, looking down at his knee. It was old and hardly visible, but he felt the raised bit of skin with his fingers. “I’m surprised you don’t remember. I believe that _you_ caused that one, dear lady.”

She gaped at him. “When did I…” she took a breath and let it out on a laugh. “In the woods, when we were children.”

“I seem to recall that we had been playing a rather frenzied version of Dragons and Knights that day. I had the misfortune of being the dragon that turn.”

Moira shook her head, remembering how she had swung at him with a tree branch she had pretended to have been a sword. “We ran back to the castle as fast as we could. I remember crying the entire time, I felt so horrible.” She reached out and gently stroked the mark. “You told Nan that you had fallen instead of telling her what had really happened. It seems that even then you were looking out for me.”

Nathaniel shivered. “Your fingers are freezing,” he said as a way to disguise the fact that a mere brush of skin on skin contact had affected him so. He held her hand in both of his hand rubbed their fingers together.

Moira swallowed hard, staring at their joined hands. Both of them had little nicks and old cuts on their knuckles. She should have been embarrassed by the calluses caused by fighting with swords that made her palms and fingers rough, but she wasn’t. She was more interested in the same calluses that littered Nathaniel’s hands. They were in different places than hers, especially around his right index and middle fingers from years of archery.

Nathaniel glanced up from her hands, noting that her blanket had slid off her shoulders to puddle at her waist. The firelight illuminated her skin, showing him various old injuries from battling darkspawn. “What is this one from?” he asked, letting go of her hand to trace a scar on her side. It was larger than the rest and went in a neat line across her ribs. The center mass of it was thicker than the edges, as if whatever weapon had caused it had nearly struck something vital.

She flinched, her expression closing off. “It’s nothing,” she said, standing up and moving away from him. “Just something that I should have avoided.” She pulled the edges of the blanket together and bit her lip.

“It’s not _nothing_ ,” Nathaniel argued, standing up behind her. Gently, he turned her towards him and tilted her chin up so that she was staring at him. “Where did you get it?”

She looked away for a brief moment before looking him in the eye again. “Denerim.”

He felt a piece of ice lodge in his chest. “My father did this to you.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes.” Rendon had baited her by describing just how he had killed her family and left their remains. It was stupid; she shouldn’t have let her emotions control her, but it had been enough of a distraction for him to swing the hatchet he wielded, the blade piercing her armor. Wynne’s magic had stopped the bleeding and knitted the majority of the skin back together, but Moira had been thrown into Fort Drakon before it could be completely healed, hence the scar.

“Moira…” She jumped when she felt Nathaniel’s hands against bare skin, and she let out a strangled moan when he knelt, his lips tracing the worst of the scar, the silent apology making her knees buckle. She tangled her hands into his hair, hardly daring to breathe when his arms went around her hips and pulled her into his embrace. She cupped his face in her palms. Before he could question what she was doing, she bent at the waist and kissed him.

He rose from his knees, his mouth still against hers. Their blankets fell away and Nathaniel clutched her to him, closing his eyes tightly at the feel of her body against his. “Are you certain?” he asked, trailing his lips down to her throat.

Moira nodded, not trusting her voice. She slowly walked backwards instead, stopping when the edge of the mattress hit the backs of her knees. The saucy smile she gave him was the only warning he had before she fell back, taking him with her, the both of them laughing as they bounced over the covers.

Somehow they had ended with Nathaniel on his back. His fingers dug into her hips, his eyes transfixed at the sight of her above him. _This_ couldn’t have been what the men in the Free Marches had vulgarly talked of. The act was far too personal, too intimate to be so coarsely mentioned. He dragged his tongue against the line of her jaw, catching beads of perspiration that dewed up from her skin. They may have only had that one night in what seemed like a lifetime ago, but months of working together had them moving almost as if one knew exactly where the other was going to go next. The initial bumping about as they relearned the other’s bodies was still there, but there was a sweetness to it all, years of being apart finally coming to an end.

Somewhat later, they lay in a contented tangle of arms and legs. “Am I too heavy?” he asked, his voice slurring as he moved down her body, his head resting against her chest, listening as the frantic beat of her heart underneath his ear slowed down to a normal rhythm.

“Never,” she replied, her fingers lazily sifting through his hair.

He let out a contented sounding noise and nuzzled the side of her breast, his lips pressing over her heart. He rolled to his side, bringing her with him. The wax from the candle at the bedside table had lowered considerably, but there was still enough light to see her expression. “What’s wrong?” he asked, alarmed when he saw her lip quiver and a tear roll across her cheek and disappear into her hair.

“Absolutely nothing,” she told him, curling closer against his chest. She leaned against his chest. “I was just thinking about how happy I am that we got caught in the rain.”


	25. Chapter 25

After spending two nights in a row sleeping on a bare sliver of Nathaniel’s mattress, Moira finally convinced him that her larger bed was the best fit for them both. While she liked the way that he held her close in his sleep, she also liked knowing that she wasn’t in danger of falling out of bed at any given moment. Nathaniel had some reservations about the new sleeping arrangements, especially since Moira’s bedroom used to belong to his parents. Yet now, waking up for the first time in a much more comfortable bed, he had to admit that it hardly resembled the room that he remembered from his youth. The ornately carved headboard that he remembered from his childhood was gone and in its place was a simpler, yet still massive, four-poster style frame. The bed linens were made of the same rich fabrics, but the colors were warmer, more welcoming than what he remembered. Moira had informed him that most of the furniture was from other rooms in the Keep, which would explain why the armoire he recalled being full to overflowing with his sister’s dresses was now stored along one wall and flanked by Moira’s armor stand and weapon rack. The dark wooden bedside tables once belonged in a guest room in a different wing of the keep. One of the legs had a chip in the corner when Nathaniel and Thomas had gotten too boisterous during a game of roughhousing. Nathaniel recalled turning the table around at an angle so their mother wouldn’t notice. To his knowledge, the move had worked since neither boys had been punished.

The only original piece of furniture that had once belonged in the bedroom was his mother’s vanity.   Moira had also kept his mother’s jewelry case where it had been stored, but she had claimed the space with her own items: squat glass jars and thin vials containing pleasantly scented lotions and tonics were neatly arranged next to a case holding an array of cosmetics. He’d curiously uncorked one of the vials one night and discovered the source of the lavender scent that always seemed to cling to Moira’s skin. Without moving from the position he’d woken up in, Nathaniel’s eyes lingered on the vanity’s mirror. A memory of his mother sitting in the empty chair hit him just then. He’d often sit on the floor next to the vanity and watch as she got ready for an event or party. She would hum to herself as she applied rouge to her lips and dabbed perfume to the hollow of her throat and at her wrists. He took a breath, the memory making him almost smell the cloyingly heavy scent.

He glanced at the mirror again. His father was there too, at least in the earlier memories Nathaniel had. His father would often lavish his mother with jewels, fastening necklaces made of gold and rubies at her neck and smiling fondly at her, his eyes catching hers in the mirror. They’d been happy then, Nathaniel at their feet and Delilah a bump underneath his mother’s dress. They’d still been happy as a family of four, and Nathaniel never doubted how much either parent cared for him.

It was years later when Thomas enlightened Nathaniel to how things had soured between his parents, when the stony silences and cold glares had begun. His little brother confirmed long-standing rumors of their mother falling in love with another man that had led to Thomas’ conception. Rendon had found out about the affair and instead of merely banishing his wife’s lover, he’d brutally murdered him in front of her. At the time that Thomas had come to him with their mother’s letter confessing all, he couldn’t believe his father capable of such cruelty. Yes, his father had been cold and distant towards all of his children soon before Thomas’ birth and it often felt as if Nathaniel had to work for any crumb of praise or affection from the man ever afterwards, but Nathaniel had never dreamt of him stooping to the torture his mother wrote of.

The letter Thomas had come bearing had also noted that the only thing that had kept their mother in Amaranthine was the fact that _her_ mother refused to allow her to come home. Having known how cold his maternal grandmother had been, Nathaniel didn’t put it past the woman to place station and reputation before family. The scandal of Thomas’ true parentage could be silenced, but to have their mother flee the arms of a man she despised would make tongues wag in a way that would not be tolerated. After spending years with parents who barely said a word to the other and when they did speak, it left a chill of frost in the air, Nathaniel couldn’t blame his mother for leaving the second news of her mother’s death reached her. He’d done some looking around in the months that he’d returned to Ferelden and discovered that his grandmother’s estate had been burnt to the ground during the Blight. Soldiers who had arrived too late easily identified the remains of the former Arlessa of Amaranthine amongst the ruins.

Strangely enough, Nathaniel couldn’t bring himself to grieve too much. While she never came across as hating him outright, she had never been very affectionate towards him. Now that he knew everything, he could guess it was because he strongly favored his father, who was the one man she had despised more than anyone else. If there was a maternal figure for him to mourn, it would have to be Adria. She had freely giving him and his siblings her love where their own parents hadn’t, showing them that unconditional love didn’t have to come from blood relatives alone.

Moira stirred in his arms, murmuring something in her sleep before rolling closer to him. Nathaniel’s heart flipped at the sight of the faint smile on her lips and the way that her hair fell over her eyes. Carefully, so not to wake her, he brushed it away to expose the dark fans of her eyelashes. She slept too little, stress from both their duties as Wardens and the responsibility of running an arling keeping her awake far into the late hours of the night. Sighing, she snuggled up to him, her leg draped across his thigh. His arm was painfully asleep where it was pinned under her shoulder, but he couldn’t bring himself to mind.

_Maker, how I love this woman,_ he thought. In hindsight, he’d never stopped loving her, not even when he’d believed all the horrible lies about everything that had happened in his absence. Finding the truth and discovering everything that she had gone through had only made him admire her even more. She’d had the world against her and instead of letting it defeat her, she’d come through stronger than ever.

Moira’s eyes slowly opened as she stretched, a yawn muffled by his shoulder. “Mmmm, good morning,” she said, smiling up at him.

“Hello,” he replied, reaching out to run the backs of his fingers over her cheek. She moved closer to him and he took the opportunity to move his arm to cradle her neck instead of being pinned by her body, his fingers wiggling as feeling slowly came back to him on pins and needles.

She pressed a kiss to his collarbone. “Have you been awake for long?”

He shook his head. “No. I didn’t want to wake you.” Nathaniel rested his hand on top of hers. “You look peaceful when you sleep.”

She giggled. “When I’m not drooling, I’ll bet.” She yawned, covering her mouth with her hand. “I probably look a mess; I have bed hair.”

“I happen to like bed hair.” He slid his hand down to waist, his palm fitting neatly in the curve of her hip and let out a yawn of his own. “I don’t want to get out of this bed.”

“That does sound appealing, but I can think of several people who would be upset if we decided to shirk our duties for a day of laziness.”

Nathaniel quietly laughed. “An _entire_ day? My lady, I was thinking more on the lines of an extra hour! Can you even _see_ the two of us indulging in a whole day away from work?”

His teasing was met with rolled eyes. Moira rose up on her elbow and gave him a kiss that had meant to be brief, but the hand on her thigh and the one tangled in her hair turned the quick peck into a lingering affair. “Hang responsibilities,” she murmured against his mouth, her palm splayed across his chest. It felt _right_ to be in bed with limbs tangled together. She shivered as the contented hum he let out vibrated against her mouth. Echoing the same sound, Moira ran her hand down his body, following the trail of hair from his chest down the sculpted planes of his belly, her fingers slowly tracing the line of muscle at his hip in a way that made him shiver. The way his hand gripped the back of her thigh and his lips nuzzled against her forehead made her smile. This was _real_ , not some fevered imagination. She wouldn’t wake from this only to find herself in a tent somewhere in the wilderness, the heat of her dog curled up behind her the only thing keeping out the cold.

“As nice as this is, I ought to get back to my room,” he murmured after a while. “It’s not quite daybreak.”

She made a protesting noise and buried her face against the side of his neck. “Do you have to leave?” The two nights that they had spent together had been nightmare-free and they had both disliked parting ways each morning, if only to keep up appearances. “Do you really care what the others think? I’m positive they already know about us as it is.”

Nathaniel hugged her closer, the shelf of his chin resting against the crown of her head. “No, I can honestly say that I don’t give a damn what the others think.” His thumb ran in circles over her shoulder. “Yet I do need clean clothes. I’m going to have to go back to my room in order to get them.”

She looked up at him and kissed his cheek. “That can be fixed. The armoire is far too large for just my things. If you want, you can keep your clothes there as well.” She kept her tone casual and light, but she couldn’t stop her heart from beginning to race, hoping that he would accept her proposal. “Or, there’s still plenty of room for a second armoire. Or a few chests, if that’s more to your liking.”

“You’re asking me to move in with you?”

“Well, it would cut the whole sneaking in the pre-dawn light episodes out completely. I will warn you, I tend to steal bedcovers.”

He laughed. “And apparently I hog mattresses. I think we even the other out on that. Are you certain that you want to share a room with me?”

She arched an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t have asked otherwise.”

He ran the back of his knuckles over her cheek. “I don’t have much; it might only take one or two trips.”

Moira smiled. “I’ll help out.” Snuggling closer to him, she wrapped her arm around his side. “Now that that’s settled, what are your plans for today?”

Nathaniel kissed her forehead. “I was going to spend some time making some new arrows. The keep’s fletcher is busy restocking our guards; I don’t want to bother him with something I can easily do myself. After, I was going to talk to Wade and see about some minor armor repairs.”

“You ought to get a new set. I know for a fact that he’s got something in the works already; I’m certain that with the right kind of encouraging words and several adjustments that it can be custom tailored for you.” Moira may have subtly let slip to Wade that Nathaniel was in need of a light yet durable set of armor. She may have also conveniently set aside a good amount of silverite to ensure that the material Wade worked with was of the highest quality.

“I may do that. What are your plans for the day?”

“Well, there’s a fair amount of letters on my desk that are in need of answering, and after that I have some loose ends to tie up before we head out to this spot Colbert gave us. If everything goes well, we should be outfitted and ready to head out by tomorrow morning at the earliest.” The man had been even more elusive than the so-called Dark Wolf, but at least they had finally found him and been able to place the next area of investigation on the map. “I’d hate to say it, but I’d prefer venturing out into what may be a new entrance into the Deep Roads over an early lunch visit with some of the nobility. Word had spread of the attempted coup at the farmstead. While Moira had been assured by the remaining banns that they were firmly in support of her rule, she still read far too much into every word spoken and every word _unspoken_ as well. She was well-versed in laws and codes, but the Blight had dulled her once sharp sense of speaking to the nobility. Having spent some time bluntly saying what she meant to say in the name of saving time instead of honeyed words had grown on her and it would be a while before she regained the patience to play with words instead of swords, if she ever regained that talent.

Nathaniel broke into her reverie. “Sometimes I think you still take on far too much for just one person.”

“I can’t help it, that’s just who I am.”

“And there’s nothing wrong with that, but just remember that everything needn’t be done right this second.”

She glanced up at the window, noting how the sky was still somewhat dark. “You’re right,” she told him. “Do you have any plans for the immediate future?”

His mouth quirked upwards. “Oh, nothing much. I was thinking about fooling around with an Arlessa. Then, perhaps breakfast.”

Moira laughed, but stopped to let out a small gasp when he hitched her leg higher over his hip and rolled them across the bed. Still grinning, she reached up and tugged his mouth down to hers. “I think that can be arranged,” she whispered, smiling against his lips. “Oh, but I do love you, Nathaniel.” She seemed to realize what she had said, because she stiffened in his arms and looked up at him to gauge his reaction. _Stupid, Cousland,_ she chided herself. _This is still so new and you have to go and complicate things by slipping and telling him how you feel. It’s too soon, it’s…_

He stopped her inner diatribe with a hard kiss that stole her breath. “I love you too,” he breathed when he let them both up for air. “I’ve wanted to say it for the longest time, but I was afraid of scaring you away.”

Moira beamed, feeling as if her heart were about to burst from happiness. “I felt the same way,” she confessed. “But I’m not going anywhere; you’re stuck with me.”

“Good, because you’re stuck with me as well.” He let his hands wander, teasing a moan from Moira’s throat. “While we can’t spend the _entire_ day abed,” he started, his lips trailing down the side of her neck. “What do you say about starting the day a bit later than usual?”


End file.
